


the Witch and the Wolf

by moonythejedi394, Neutralchaos



Series: the same story; told different ways [9]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Don't copy to another site, Dragons, Fae & Fairies, Homophobia, M/M, Magic Belt, Mythology References, No Smut, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Racism, Religious Fanaticism, Romance, Sexism, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, War, Werecats, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Werewolves, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Witch Curses, Witch Steve Rogers, fairytale, no joke, nordic mythology & folklore, so this ain't no lemon, someone once said i had a library's worth of 'lemons', that's actually a tag?????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 151,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Bucky.This boy was like others you might know. He liked to fight wolves, pretend he was a knight, and wage magnificent wars against the most villainous of villains. He played knights and vanquished all the villains he and his friends could imagine. But then he grew up, and the villains vanquished him.And there was another boy; Steve. He was not much like other boys you’d know, or maybe he is, depending on the sort of boys you know. Wars were not his ideal session of make-believe. He liked to befriend wolves rather than fight them. He was a boy, but he grew up long before he should have.Adventures always start with kids like that. Bucky was the boy who took too long to start the process of growing up and then grew up all in one night. Steve was the boy who grew up much too quickly to have been a boy in the first place. This story might sound like it’s about just one of these boys, but that’s not really true. It’s not really about either of them, because to say that it’s about one of them would be disingenuous. Candidly, this story is about what they grew up to be.The wolf and the witch that befriended him.





	1. Once upon a time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _OMFG IT'S TIME FOR THE STUCKY AU BIG BANG!!!!!!!!!_

#  __

#  _prelude_

 

Once upon a time. Once upon a time is always how fairy tales begin, but that has never made any sense to me. Once upon a time is not the right opening line for this, because it implies that once upon a time, this happened. And this could not have happened once upon a time, because this is just a fairy tale. And everyone knows, fairy tales are never true.

 

Then again, fairy tales are always born out of a little seed of truth, but that is neither here nor there. So, once upon a time is not the way this story will open.

 

There had not been a witch born in the lands of Cadör for many winters. That’s how this story begins.

 

Magicians were rare to begin with. Signs of the gift were considered a treasured miracle. Young children who showed such signs of any affinity were brought to the lords and kings of their lands and given the best educations that king could offer. They were trained from a young age to be court sorcerers and soothsayers. A king with one wizard in his service was said to be a king blessed by the gods.

 

But you should know that witches were not the same. There were some that were gifted with the ability to manipulate magic, but witches were magic themselves. Witches did not need to be taught. Witches used magic before they learned to talk or walk. Witches were power incarnate. More often than not, witches were born of the union of a mortal and one of the fair folk, but fae had lost interest in humans long ago.

 

In Yorke and the Nordic holds, the people told stories of the great witches of old. Back when gods still walked the lands and dragons roamed the skies, witches were the ones to lead armies, to unite clans and tribes. Witches were the ones the people rallied behind, witches were the great protectors of the land and its folk. When villains rode in from the west and east, witches were the ones to stand against them.

 

There were paladins and monks and acolytes of the gods who let their masters work divine magic through their hands, there were wise men and women who knew the workings of magic and could teach it without being able to use it themselves. Some with blessings from the gods could then learn that magic from tomes and scrolls and many hard years of work. There were sorcerers of great skill to be found throughout the lands of Cadör, there were alchemists, there were trained wizards. There were still the old shamans, the families who perhaps did not pass the gift down through blood but teaching, the apothecaries and the fortune tellers. Those who did not have magic in their souls, but knew how to grow and cultivate the magic in the earth beneath their feet. These were magic users taught out of books.

 

There had not been a witch born in the lands of Cadör for many winters, but that is not to say that there was no magic. There is always magic in fairy tales, as everyone knows. In this land of no witches, a boy was born to a family of perfectly ordinary people. And as everyone knows, perfectly ordinary people are the real heroes of fairy tales.

 

That boy’s name was James. But he didn’t like being called that because there were a lot of Jameses in his village and he wasn’t going to be another Jimmy or Jamie. When he was five years old, he told his mother he wanted to be called Buchanan instead, because it sounded grand and noble and it was his grandfather’s name, and his grandfather was the grandest and noblest a farmer could hope to be. His little sisters couldn’t say Buchanan, so they called him Bucky. And it stuck.

 

Bucky had seen many a shaman in his short life and even met sorcerers. But there were no witches. There were no children born with magic in their hands before they learned to read. Despite the magic that ran deep in the earth, there had not been a witch born in Yorke for generations.

 

There were no witches born in Yorke. But there was a dark witch born in the Eastmarch. In fact, there were nine. And as everyone knows, there are always villains in fairy tales.

 

Bucky had only been sixteen when his home was invaded. His village laid on the border between the lands of Yorke and the Eastmarch, and as such, it had been one of the first to fall. In fact, Bucky hadn’t even been there when Brooklyn was attacked. He had been in the capital, serving the king, while his entire village was burned to the ground.

 

There weren’t even bodies left to bury.

 

Bucky had woken the day the blood dawn rose and tasted the ash on the east wind, and he hadn’t needed the words of a wizard to tell him that the sky told ill portents that day.

 

The Eastmarch had attacked swiftly. Their army had moved faster than anything any man or woman on the whole of Cadör had ever seen, especially considering that the lands of the Eastmarch had been dead for the past hundred years. Had you asked any citizen of Yorke, Dinaea, the Nordic holds or even the far distant kingdom of Cretus, the Eastmarch had been blighted by the gods and not a living thing remained in the marshes to the southeast.

 

Perhaps that was why the king of Yorke had never put much effort into protecting the eastern border. A kingdom of ghosts was no threat to the living.

 

Yet somehow, the Eastmarch had lived. After Brooklyn burned, the Eastern March had swept through Yorke and cut down any living thing in their path. There were never survivors of their assault, and by the time the Yorkeish forces met them, nearly every village and town on the east and north of Yorke had been destroyed.

 

The king had spoken of vengeance before the battle. Of reaping justice for the Omegas and younglings slain in cold blood by the East Army, for the bodies that would never receive proper burial and the souls that would be left restless until Ragnarok. The king’s men had cried for blood, and when the battle was over, the blood they’d called for had been spilt in plenty.

 

Only, it was their own blood. It was plain to see the moment the battle began that the Eastern March’s swiftness and ruthlessness were not just the work cold-hearted men. On the front lines, Bucky had found himself confronted with his own mortality and had realized that he didn’t want to die a boy.

 

The Eastern March was not made up of men. It was not made up by any living creature, and to add to that, it was not aided by one wizard. The Eastern March was commanded by nine witches, servants of the ancient death cult Hydra, and each had one hundred undead soldiers serving them. The armies of Yorke numbered only four hundred in total, and just against nine hundred men who could not die a second time, they were woefully outnumbered, but against nine hundred undead men and nine witches?

 

The battle had begun at dawn. It was over by dusk, with the chief witch of the East raising the Yorkeish king’s head to cheers by the other eight witches, and the blood of Yorkemen watering the farmlands they had sworn they’d die to protect.

 

Bucky, a boy at sixteen years old, had found himself lying in a gulley with his life slowly draining from his body. In hindsight, he should have taken his sword and fallen on it while he had the chance.

 

The East Army had continued spreading, with eight witches and eight hundred undead. Their leader and his hundred had remained in Yorke. He had swarmed the capital and took over the castle with ease, overthrowing the monarchy and establishing himself as the new ruler of Yorke. Bucky, sixteen years old, had been thrown into his own dungeon, and the witch who had taken the life of his king had looked at him like a starving man might look at a meal.

 

“You will make a fine candidate,” Bucky had been told. And then left in the darkness.

 

At least to him, it soon became apparent what the Eastmarch had done and why they were doing it. The chief witch was a man named Johann Schmidt, and firstly he was an alchemist. Secondly, he was the most villainous of villains. The dungeon was converted into a laboratory, and Bucky, one of the starting fifty men who had been spared in the battle, had spent the next three years undergoing various torture methods while Schmidt fed him different potions that usually left his blood burning and did little else. The only good thing about Schmidt’s potions was that they obscured his memory, and whenever Bucky tried thinking of his time as Schmidt’s test subject later in life, he could only remember vague colors and sounds. He thought that Schmidt may have spent a great deal of time cursing, either him or the gods, but that was the most he could recall.

 

After three years had passed, only a few other men still lived. Most had died in the first six months. Later, Bucky could never say what it was that kept him alive.

 

After Bucky had been trapped and experimented on by Schmidt for three years, the witch had finally seemed to be at his wit's end. The next thing Bucky could remember was a different man pouring golden liquid into his mouth and telling him how sorry he was. Bucky, at the time, had thought that the liquid was a miracle, a gift from the gods, as it had released him of the pain and torment he’d been living in for so long, and he had drunk it eagerly.

 

But after he was engulfed by fire from within and pain so much worse than anything else he had endured for days on end, Bucky had understood why the man had apologized.

 

When the pain was finally gone, Bucky had become conscious to find half a dozen men gathered around the metal table he was chained to. He had snapped through the chains like they were threads and killed all six of them before he even realized what he’d been doing.

 

Bucky had managed to get halfway out of the labyrinthian dungeon when the same man that had fed him the golden liquid caught up to him. Bucky had lifted him by the throat and thrown him into a wall, but then the man had hastily begun talking and Bucky was finally snapped out of his rage.

 

“My name is Abraham Erskine,” the man had started. “I was the king’s alchemist, Schmidt forced me to perfect the elixir that gave you this strength and anger. If you don’t kill me, I can reverse it, if we get out of here.”

 

Bucky, finally to his senses, had taken the moment to look at his own hands. He had ripped out someone’s throat with his bare hands just moments ago. His hands… They weren’t even human anymore.

 

“Let’s get out of here,” he’d said.

 

Erskine had lifted himself off the ground and then clutched his throat as his body had lifted into the air. Bucky had spun around, but it was already too late. Schmidt had killed Erskine quickly, and no sooner than the alchemist’s body had hit the ground, the witch was turning his magic on Bucky.

 

And that was the very last thing Bucky could remember of the Great War. He had blacked out after that and had missed the next seventy years. When he finally regained control of his own mind, so many things had changed. Schmidt had turned him into a true monster and those opposing the Eastern March wanted Bucky’s head just as much as Schmidt’s. The people that had broken the spell enslaving Bucky planned to take him away to be publicly executed, so Bucky had done the natural thing. He had run for his life.

 

As the kingdom of Cretus took over the lands claimed by the Eastmarch, Bucky turned to mercenary work to sustain himself while he hid from the law. The Cretan High General declared martial law over Yorke, then overthrew his own king and made himself Emperor. His first act as emperor was to place a bounty on the Winter Soldier. No one saw the truth. They only saw a bloodthirsty beast with hands that cut throats as easily as blades, a monster whose eyes never reflected light but in the dark.

 

No one stopped to care that the Winter Soldier had once been nothing more than a scared boy. Just a child, thrown into war much too quickly.

 

Bucky never stayed in one place too long, he never took the same client twice, he never showed his face. The beast that had been controlled by Schmidt, now called the Red Skull for his unholy likeness, had always been masked, so no one knew what Bucky looked like anyway. He became known as the White Wolf instead of what the Red Skull had called him. He grew up quickly, leaving behind the scared boy he’d been when the Eastmarch had first invaded Yorke. There was no place for boys in the future.

 

The people of Yorke cried and wailed as their lands burned and were taken over. They exchanged one villain for another. They called for their gods and for the witches that had saved them in the old days, and when none came, they turned to curses. The armies of Cretus burned their temples and shrines and when they were left, the people did not rebuild. There would be no witches to save them this time, they said. The gods had forsaken them, so they forsook their gods.

 

But the gods were not yet done with Yorke or yet with Bucky Barnes. Fairy tales have happy endings, after all. Almost always.

 

While that scared boy first served as a prisoner of war, in the far east of what used to be Yorke and the rubble of what had been Brooklyn, a daughter was born to an unwed woman. No one had attended the birth, and so no one had seen the lamps go out all at once as the babe drew her first breath. To that unwed woman, whom no one had known before her arrival in Brooklyn, was born Yorke’s first witch in generations.

 

I told you this was a fairy tale.

 

While the Eastern March fought to conquer Cadör, an unwed witch returned to her place of birth to raise her own daughter. While Cretus fought to conquer the Eastmarch, she taught the girl to control her magic in secret. While the Cretan High General declared himself emperor, that girl gave birth to her own daughter and that daughter proved to be a witch, too.

 

While Bucky established himself as the White Wolf, a hired sword with almost supernatural skill, the fourth in that line of witches was born just as the Emperor ordered all magicians to be rounded up and executed. Witches, in particular, were said to be evil. Witches, the Emperor said, were the product of unholy relations with creatures of dark magic. Witches, the Emperor said, would seek the destruction of the peace so carefully cultured by the Cretan Empire. Witches, the Emperor said, were unholy themselves.

 

Bucky had questioned many times over the years he spent in the captivity of the Red Skull and then later hiding amongst the chaos of the Cretan Empire what reason had brought the gods to keep him alive so long. Decades had passed and he hardly aged a day. He grew tired, and more than once, prayed that the old gods of Yorke would see an end to his miserable life.

 

The gods did not heed his prayer. For while the Cretan Emperor set about conquering the very people he liberated, in the rising towers of Brooklyn in the east of what used to be Yorke, a boy was born to the fourth in the line of witches. Fifth in his line, Steven, the son of Sarah, spoke magic before he drew his first breath.

 

The gods saw an end to the tyranny of the Fist of Cretus. And Bucky, whose prayers would not be answered, soon learned of an Omega boy in the east that constantly provoked trouble. Among others, he would come to learn that Steven, the son of Sarah, had a destiny fit for a king.

 

So that’s how this fairy tale will start. With the day the wolf met the witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _that is correct ladies and gentlemen, i done added yet another a/b/o fic. better yet!! i done another fic with[chaosdraws!](https://twitter.com/Neutralchaos1) it was the most amazing coincidence after claims when she messaged me saying she'd picked my fic again lol; for every check-in form asking how our collab was going, i wanted to add in that it was going above and beyond swimmingly bc we keep sending each other stucky memes and pics of sebastian looking like an eastern european sugar daddy. she's outdone herself this time and i can't wait for you to see the amazing art she has in store_
> 
> _so later today you'll be getting chapter 1 of this (and yes These Days too), tomorrow i'll post 2 and 3, so on and so on. there'll be no long gaps for y'all this time, we're gonna have 2 chapters a day 'til we hit the end of the line lmao. keep an eye out for the next update!_


	2. THE WHITE WOLF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*upside down smiley* standing in one spot for two 2.5 hour segments with fifteen minutes in between is great. sorry this took so long, i didn't think it would be 6 PM before i sat down again._

#  _[THE WHITE WOLF]_

  


Bucky held the reins loosely in his right hand, the left hidden by his cloak. The gait of his horse was slow, and every so often, she knickered and tossed her head. It was late, and by all rights, Bucky ought to have set up camp an hour ago, but he was nearly to the city.

 

At the gates, Bucky pulled a warhorn from his hip and raised it to his lips. He blew a loud, deep note, and movement stirred on the wall.

 

“Who goes there?” a guardsman called down to him.

 

“Thaddeus, son of Todd,” Bucky answered in a lie. The instructions he’d been given had been very clear.

 

“Thaddeus?” the guard answered. “Why are you out so late?”

 

“I was collecting mushrooms and moonflowers,” Bucky called. He had a script and everything. “They’re best picked under moonlight.”

 

A normal man would have not heard the guard grumbling about apothecaries and their priorities. Bucky was not a normal man.

 

“You’ll have to pay the fine for being out past curfew again, Thaddeus,” the guard called out, but he was opening the gate, so Bucky didn’t care. “Be quick!”

 

Bucky spurred his horse on with a tap of his heels. She passed through the gates at a light trot, with him pulling on the reins to stop her at a money booth so he could hand over the fine. The guard didn’t bother asking him to lower his hood; he didn’t even look up when Bucky leaned down to drop five gold coins into the outstretched chest. The guard simply shut the chest with a snap and slammed the shutters closed. Bucky righted himself and clicked his tongue, urging on his horse again.

 

He didn’t need to check it, but the scroll containing his instructions was tucked into a pocket of his cloak. Now that he was in the city, he was to proceed to the Tipsy Elderberry Inn, where he could stable his horse and purchase a room for the night. The Tipsy Elderberry, as he was told, was a gambling hotspot and doubled as a brothel, so his presence would go totally unnoticed. His first employer said he ought to leave before dawn and start tracking his target, but the second told him that he would need to stay until he was able to purchase the prostitute he’d been hired to take out.

 

Bucky would leave before dawn and then return a few nights later under a different disguise. The month was nearing its zenith, the full moon approaching with all the bad portents and ill omens it could offer. Bucky could return to the city during daylight, perhaps following a caravan of nomads, after the season of bad luck was through.

 

His horse’s hooves clacked loudly as he traveled through the city. Bucky kept his gaze fixed on the road. The inn was located near the city’s center, having been the only inn in the city when it was still just a small village. It had been built due to the number of travelers going up and down the Eastern Run, the river having once been the eastern border of Yorke.

 

Yorke wasn’t a kingdom anymore, though. And the Eastern Run was dammed up in so many places that where it passed the city could hardly be called a river anymore. Bucky didn’t spend much time ruminating on the nature of the lands he now walked. The Cretan Empire was a godforsaken nation.

 

The closer to the city’s center he got, the louder the nightlife became. Bucky kept his horse in check, so she wouldn’t startle and bolt when the abrupt cries of merrymakers made her toss her head, and kept a steady heading. In no time, the swinging sign of the Tipsy Elderberry was visible. As they neared, there came the sound of shattering glass and cheering, loud enough that his horse whinnied in fright and tried to turn back. Bucky pulled hard on the reins.

 

“Whoa, girl, whoa,” he warned while she stamped her hooves and nickered nervously. “Easy, easy…”

 

He swung off her back and pulled the reins past her head. Bucky patted a reassuring hand at her flank, keeping his left hand hidden in his cloak, then reached into a pouch and withdrew a handful of barley. His horse huffed, but dropped her muzzle into his palm and licked up the grain he was offering.

 

Bucky wiped his glove on his trousers and patted her flank again before tugging on her reins. The horse fell into step behind him, and now the sound of her hooves was barely audible as he approached the inn. Music came from inside, a flute and perhaps a fiddle or a lute, as well as the sound of stamping feet and someone singing. Bucky aimed for the stable. He banged on a post with his right hand until a stable boy stumbled into view, rubbing at his eyes with a hand.

 

“Just for the night,” Bucky said shortly, holding out his horse’s reins. The boy, no older than thirteen and dark skinned, took them while blinking slowly. “My name’s Smith.”

 

The stable boy tied the reins to a post, then nodded and moved around to a log book. Bucky pulled his saddlebags off the horse’s back, swinging them over a shoulder, and gave her a pat on the rump as he did. She wasn’t fond of closed stables, his horse.

 

“Three gold pieces, sir,” the boy said. Bucky pulled the fee from his pocket and dropped it onto the desk, hardly waiting for the boy to take them before walking off.

 

He mounted the steps of the inn and purposefully didn’t look at the old figurehead decorating the porch. The carved figure of a siren, teeth bared and body chained down, glared at him as he passed. Bucky pushed open the inn’s door, taking pause to let his ears acclimate to the level of noise inside, and headed for the bar.

 

He took a seat, leaving his hood and cloak pulled around his body. It took a minute for the barkeep to make her way down to him, and Bucky still left his hood up when she did.

 

There were plenty of hooded travellers in the inn that night. It was dark times. His shadowy figure was only one of the masses.

 

“Evenin’,” the barmaid called over the sounds of the inn’s patrons. “What can I getcha?”

 

“Whiskey and a room,” Bucky answered. “Name’s Smith.”

 

“We only got one bed left,” the barmaid answered. “If ya mind havin’ a roommate, you should try the Dandelion across the way.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Bucky told her. He didn’t reach for his coin purse yet, however. “You got plenty of whiskey?”

 

“Oh, barrels,” the barmaid said. “It’ll be ten gold for the room, one for the whiskey.”

 

“Make it a double,” Bucky said, now reaching.

 

He withdrew twelve gold pieces and dropped them into the maid’s outstretched hand, then put away his purse while she filled a glass with golden whiskey.

 

Bucky pulled the glass toward him while she walked away. He raised it to his lips and took a swig, then looked down the bar towards the far end of the room and a stage where a handful of bards were the source of stamping feet. The tune was lively and cheerful. Bucky thought it was distasteful.

 

The maid returned with a key, a wooden tag carved with the room number tied with twine to its end, and walked off just as quickly to service another customer. Bucky tucked the key into his pocket, then picked up his whiskey glass again and examined the bar.

 

It looked just like any other inn. Drunks spilled over tables, a game of cards in every corner, the bards playing music and stamping their feet as they didn’t have a drum. The only thing that stood out was the madam in the corner, guarding the steps to the brothel with a heavy handaxe hanging from her belt. There hadn’t been a brothel last Bucky had been to the Elderberry, but then, there hadn’t been a city built around the Elderberry last he’d been there. He hadn’t set foot in this town since it was rebuilt.

 

Bucky drank his whiskey slowly. He watched the madam out of the corner of his eye, watched the men going up and down the stairs. Occasionally a woman would walk down and speak to her madam, or wander the bar to pick up a new customer before disappearing back up the stairs. Bucky’s second target was one of those girls, apparently.

 

Well, not one of the girls, exactly. Bucky kept an eye on the stairs for the next hour, until finally, a masculine figure that wasn’t a patron made his way down the stairs. Bucky didn’t move, only sipped his whiskey, while the boy spoke with the madam. The madam gripped her axe and clenched her jaw, then shoved the boy out of her way and ran up the stairs. Bucky turned a little, watching the boy.

 

He was young, with shaggy hair so pale it was nearly white. Bucky was told he was looking for a male Omega, which should have been enough enough of a descriptor, however, the madam came storming back down a second later dragging a second boy by the hair. He was fighting her, twisting in a way that made the jeweled shift he was wearing catch the light and the bracelets adorning his wrists and ankles, his feet bare, jingle as they rattled on his thin limbs.

 

Bucky scowled somewhat into his whiskey. The madam dragged the second boy out of sight, the first following, and somewhere he could hear yelling that matched the madam’s voice. Both boys were Omegas. Bucky didn’t know which of them was his target.

 

He drained his whiskey and slammed the glass back on the counter. The barmaid started over, but Bucky slipped off his stool and aimed for the rooms. The brothel was on the third floor, the patron’s rooms were on the second. He took the stairs that hadn’t been guarded by the madam and found room to go with his key near the end of the hallway.

 

The first contract would be easy. But the second? Bucky would have to do some sleuthing to figure out which of the two Omega boys he’d been hired to kill, which added to his already pounding headache.

 

After unlocking the door, Bucky found a man already lying on one bed, passed out drunk. Bucky shed his pack and saddlebags, dropping them into a trunk at the end of the empty bed and locking it with the key set on its top, then tugged off his boots and shoved them under the bed before collapsing onto it.

 

He left his cloak on. His left arm remained hidden in its folds. He didn’t sleep.

 

In the early morning, Bucky put his boots back on and unlocked the trunk. His roommate was still passed out, and rightly so, it wasn’t yet dawn. Bucky swung his pack back on, then draped the saddlebags over a shoulder and made his way out of the inn. There was perhaps an hour until sunrise, and the inn was deserted.

 

As he left, he took the time to assess the defenses. The third floor was unguarded at this hour, and he could only assume that the prostitutes slept in the same rooms they worked in.

 

Bucky left the keys to the room and the trunk by the bar and left. He would collect his horse later. He found an alley and made swift work of climbing a building. On the roof, he took his saddlebags and tied them around his waist, then shifted his cloak off his left shoulder to expose his arm. The silver plates gleamed in the moonlight, as Bucky stripped off his gloves and flexed the fingers of both hands, flesh and metal. The nails of his right hand were jagged and yellow. They weren’t even nails, to be precise. Bucky pulled a cloth over his face and tied down his hood to keep it from flying off, then made a running leap to the next building.

 

He travelled the city in crouches and jumps, using the cover of the pitch black sky to hide his movements. The stars weren’t even shining, thanks to the factory pumping smog into the air up at the reservoir to the south. The moon was nearly full, and it was all the light shining on the city.

 

Not that Bucky needed it. He would have prefered to wait until the new moon to go on this mission, but both his employers wanted fast results. The first contract was a businessman who was using crooked means to gather wealth, the contract was a revenge killing, plain and simple. The second, the prostitute…

 

Bucky wasn’t sure why his employer would want a male courtesan dead. The contract said the boy was mouthy and a troublemaker, but that didn’t necessitate hiring an assassin. He didn’t even know the identity of his second employer. They were paying him, and that was really all he cared about.

 

The first target was farther to the north of the city. Bucky took a looping path, jumping rooftops, to get there without being spotted by the patrols of soldiers marching the city, enforcing the curfew. They never bothered looking up. The Cretan Army had grown cocky and lazy in the past decade or so.

 

Bucky came to a halt, a rooftop away from the villa he needed to infiltrate. His instructions were fairly detailed, his employer wanted the target to die unnoticed. Bucky didn’t really like taking duller jobs, things that hardly challenged him, but he sympathized with the cause; for one, the target used child labor to line his pockets, something Bucky had once thought people had moved past since he was a kid miner. He’d thought that perhaps people would have gotten wiser since the Great War, or at least kinder.

 

The Cretan Army occupying the lands of Yorke and half of Dinaea proved different.

 

Bucky took a hand crossbow from his pack and loaded it with a heavy bolt. He attached a thick rope to it, then aimed across the street to the roof of the target’s villa. A patrol was going by, and Bucky had already counted the cycles of their paths while he’d crossed the city. Once the patrol went by, he’d have a seven minute window to cross the road. He peered down the sights, slowing his breathing and heartbeat. The patrol turned a corner.

 

He never knew where or when he’d learned this trick. Bucky closed one eye and stopped breathing altogether, and eventually, his heartbeat slowed enough that it didn’t impede his shot. His left arm steadied the crossbow and with the right, he curled one clawed finger over the trigger.

 

Bucky gently squeezed. The bolt shot from the crossbow, the thick rope pooled at his feet spiralling out with it, and Bucky slowly increased his breathing and heart rate, while he fixed the grappling hook on the other end of the rope to the roof he was currently standing on. He waited for his heartbeat to rise back to normal levels and swung onto the rope.

 

He crawled, hand over hand with his ankles locked together, along the rope from one roof to the other. At the villa, Bucky grabbed the ledge of the roof with his left hand and the stone cracked under his fingers as he dug them in. He swung his body onto the roof, then walked to the bolt and released it. With the slack, he loosened the grappling hook and with a twist of his arm, the hook flew over the other roof’s ledge and into the street. Bucky hauled it back up and tucked it back into his pack as the next patrol turned the corner.

 

Bucky crossed the roof in a crouch, grasping the other ledge and swinging over it. He climbed carefully down to the fifth floor window, where the latch was released and waiting for him.

 

Bucky pushed open the window and slipped inside. A small cot rested in the corner, but an Omega sat upright in a rocking chair in the center of the room. A single teddy bear lay on the floor by the cot. It was an ill omen.

 

Bucky checked that the cloth covering his face was secure before approaching on silent feet. The Omega, his employer, didn’t look at him. Her hands were clasped under her chin, a string of prayer beads clutched in her fingers, and her eyes were shut tightly as she whispered under her breath.

 

Bucky circled her chair carefully and knelt in front of her. A sack of coins sat in her lap, and still, she didn’t look at him. He took the coins, weighed it in his palm, then tucked it into a pouch at his waist and looked back up at her.

 

The woman finally opened her eyes. She looked terrified.

 

Bucky gave her a single nod, then turned around with a flare of his cloak and pushed through the curtain covering the doorway. The woman resumed praying, her voice, barely audible, now a sob.

 

Bucky crept down to the third floor. He stuck close to the walls, walking on the tips of his toes. He pulled the cloth over his face down to expose his nose and kept his nostrils flared for any trace scent moving in the house. The fourth floor was carpeted, as were the stairs, and with the early hour of the morning, not a soul was moving. Bucky found the master bedroom easily and pushed open the door with his right hand.

 

The woman’s daughter, hardly eleven Bucky guessed, lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. There was a dark bruise in the shape of a hand over her neck and her lip was split, but she was breathing. Bucky pulled a knife from his cloak and stepped around her body to the grand four-poster bed.

 

The drapes were tied back, and his target snored as he slept. Bucky took a squat jar from a pocket, shifted the knife and it into his right hand and unscrewed the lid. He dipped a metal finger into the poultice inside, then carefully coated the blade. The target’s arm was flung out over the edge of the bed, his chest bare as he slept. Bucky put the jar away and crouched next to the bed.

 

Bucky took the tip of the knife and swiftly inserted it into the man’s underarm. He withdrew quickly, and the man spluttered and smacked his lips as he rolled over, before returning to snoring. Bucky wiped the knife with a cloth and tossed it into the red coals in the grate, then tucked the knife back under his cloak. He didn’t want to leave the girl lying where she was, he would rather return her to her dam, but his employer wanted the death to look natural, and if the girl was moved, suspicion might be aroused.

 

Bucky, still, paused to pull the girl’s nightgown back over her legs to her ankles. She didn’t stir, and just to be safe, he checked her pulse. She was still alive. Bucky crept from the room.

 

He returned to the bedroom of the woman who hired him. She was still praying, her eyes squeezed shut. Bucky wasn’t sure if she saw him leave. When dawn came and the household rose, the Alpha of the house would have passed in his sleep. Bucky climbed back up to the roof, reloaded his crossbow, waited until the patrol passed, and fired. Just before he crawled across the rope, he took pause to listen.

 

Somewhere below him, there must have been a window open to the master bedroom. He could hear the target choking as his lungs paralyzed.

 

Bucky crawled over the rope to the other roof. He pulled the hook clear and tucked it away, then started back across the city to fetch his horse. He would ride a few days out of town toward the forest, what was left of it, and wait for the full moon to pass before returning and finding which of the two male prostitutes at the Tipsy Elderberry he was supposed to kill. He might have to kill both of them if he couldn’t figure out which was his target within three days, but then again, his employer really should have known that there were two Omega boys at the brothel and given him more information.

 

A few blocks away from the Elderberry, Bucky hopped off a roof. He fell the three stories and hit the ground hard, and one ankle crunched a little. Bucky took a second to roll the joint and shake off the pain, then began walking toward the inn.

 

As he neared, the sun was rising, and there was bustle and life at the inn again. Bucky slowed his steps. There was a commotion just outside the inn.

 

“... well, if you’re so grand, why do you gotta pay every time to get somebody in bed with you, huh?”

 

“Why, you little rat!”

 

Bucky turned the corner, his cloak once again pulled over his left shoulder and gloves covering his talon-like right fingers. The innkeeper and a small crowd were just outside the inn. There was a patrol of soldiers and the stable boy was sprawled on the ground, spitting blood into the dust.

 

“You take that back!” a soldier yelled.

 

“You couldn’t even pay me!” a blonde kid screamed. Bucky presumed he was the little rat that the soldier was angry with. He was the same boy the madam had been dragging around by the hair in the inn the night before, but now dressed in plain clothes. His feet were still bare. Bucky thought his ankles looked particularly bony without the bracelets. “I’d like to see you be half as moral or strong as Kaenan! I’d doubt there’s a moral bone in your pig-headed body!”

 

“That’s enough!” the innkeeper yelled, but the blonde wasn’t done.

 

“You lot all think you got the right to treat anybody however you like just ‘cause you’re Cretan, but I’ll tell you something, the next time I see you roughing up Kaenan just ‘cause he looks different, I’ll claw your perverted, filthy eyes out!”

 

“I’ll cut your hands off before you can even try,” the soldier threatened, drawing his sword.

 

“Please, there is no need for violence!” the innkeeper pleaded.

 

“There was need for violence the second that pig started pushing Kaenan around!” the blonde kid yelled, then he rounded on the innkeeper, too. “But you, you don’t say a damn word, you said that boy was like a son to you!”  


“Go inside!” the innkeeper screamed. “I’m warning you, boy!”

 

“You’re just gonna let them do this?” the blonde demanded.

 

“Go inside!”

 

“You heard him, whore,” another soldier sneered. “Get your pretty ass back in the shade before you burn your lovely skin.”

 

“Call me _whore_ one more time, I dare you!” the blonde answered sharply.

 

“Steve,” the black boy on the ground spat out, “just go.”

 

A nearby soldier abruptly kicked the boy off his elbows to land in the dirt again. The blonde, Steve, rushed him.

 

“He’s just a kid!”

 

The soldier sidestepped him. The innkeeper made a move as though to haul Steve back, but another soldier flung an arm out and stopped him.

 

Bucky clenched his fists as he hung back in the shadows. Steve swung his fists, the soldier dodging most of his blows. Bucky watched, and he had a pretty good guess which of the two Omega boys standing outside the brothel he’d been hired to kill.

 

The troublemaker. A second soldier jumped into the fight, grabbing Steve by the arms and holding him still while the other started pounding into his face. The innkeeper didn’t fight to help him.

 

The young black boy on the ground crawled away to spit up more blood, then pushed himself to his feet and let out a yell. He charged the soldier wailing on Steve and caught him by the knees, knocking him to the ground. Bucky let out a quiet sigh of pity.

 

“Kane! Kane, run!” Steve screamed.

 

Kane bolted. Three soldiers started chase, their heavy armor slowing them down, and Bucky made a split second decision. From the shadows, he raised his hand crossbow, loaded it, and fired at the first soldier chasing the black boy.

 

The boy disappeared into an alley while the soldier fell down, dead. The group of soldiers turned targets and aimed for where Bucky was hiding. He climbed a building and jumped rooftops while they searched the ground for him. By now, Bucky was curious, and he circled back around to crouch on another rooftop overlooking the square in front of the Tipsy Elderberry.

 

The male Omega who’d stood up for the black kid was collapsed in the dirt, spitting out blood, too. The innkeeper had seemed to have dismissed the crowd while Bucky was on the move, but now turned on Steve.

 

“That’s it!” he hissed. Bucky almost couldn’t hear it. “I told you last time that if you picked any more fights with the Cretans, you’d be on your ass in the gutter!”

 

“‘M on my ass in the gutter,” Steve answered.

 

“You know what I mean!” the innkeeper snapped. “You’re done! I don’t want to see your face ever again!”

 

Steve gave a snort. “You’ve said that a thousand times.”

 

“I mean it this time!” the innkeeper yelled. Steve started, jerking around to look at him. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, son of Sarah! I want you out of here!”

 

Steve scrambled to his feet, though the way he hugged his ribs and lilted to one side told Bucky that he was more injured than he looked. “You can’t do that!”

 

“I can!” the innkeeper spat. “Pietro’s enough to satisfy the perverts in this town, I don’t need you! I only kept you on out of pity!”

 

“I’m the reason you could even keep this inn!” Steve screamed.

 

“And now I don’t need you anymore! Get out!”

 

Steve spat blood at the innkeeper’s feet. “I’m getting my things,” he said quietly. The innkeeper didn’t protest, and Steve pushed past him to re-enter the building.

 

Bucky, on the rooftop, sat back on his ass to watch the innkeeper heave a sigh. The man turned and climbed the steps, while Bucky stared at the blood staining the dust and dirt.

 

He had figured when his employer said the target was a troublemaker that the Omega boy would have been hoarding information, lovers, things like that. Bucky hadn’t even guessed that his employer might have been a Cretan sympathizer.

 

He needed to know more about the son of Sarah. He may have been a mercenary and a monster, but he wasn’t about to go helping Cretus by taking out somebody who was willing to stand up to them.

 

Bucky waited until the Omega left the inn again, wearing a olive green, ratty traveling cloak and sandals, though the same loose trousers and shirt, and carrying a leather satchel. Bucky wondered how that was all the boy owned, but followed him across the rooftops. His shadow would be noticeable now in the dawn light, so he had to stay far from the edge while he followed the Omega.

 

The boy walked from the city’s center towards the outskirts. He neared a shack on the edge of town, where the wall crossed the river, and then just stopped. Bucky watched him standing there, staring at the shack with a furrowed brow.

 

“What’re you doing?” Bucky wondered under his breath.

 

The boy’s body seemed to deflate. He mounted the steps of the shack and pushed the door open. Bucky waited for a while, wondering if he’d leave, then climbed down from the rooftop. He neared the house from the rear and peeked through a grimy window. He saw little, but there was a figure moving around. There was only one room in the shack.

 

Bucky reached up with his left arm and worked a finger between the panes carefully. Once he got it open, he squinted through the gap.

 

The Omega was cleaning. There was dirt and dust everywhere, so it was understandable. Bucky watched him shake out linens and rugs, then sweep the dust out the door and shake out more. He stopped to cough, then shook his head and started for the window.

 

Bucky darted away, around the other side of the shack, as the boy threw open the window to let air in. Bucky peered around the corner while the  boy hung out of the window, coughing, and then withdrew into the shack.

 

Bucky crept around to the window again. The boy had his back to him and he settled into a more comfortable position to watch him. Bucky had to know why someone wanted this kid dead. Particularly, why they wanted him dead so much that they hired _him_ to do it.

 

There had to be something. The boy had to somehow be dangerous to the Cretans, beyond causing trouble outside brothels.

 

Watching him, though, offered no help. The Omega just cleared the shack of dirt and collapsed onto a straw mat once he was done. He didn’t even change. Bucky wondered if he had spare clothes.

 

Bucky snuck away from the house and climbed a nearby three-story building. He withdrew the contract he’d received from his second employer and scanned it, looking for any indication as to why this boy posed a threat to Cretus. Troublemaker, mouthy, male Omega found at the Tipsy Elderberry. He had three days remaining to complete the contract and his money would be within a hollow tree in the old forest. He wasn’t allowed to contact the employer again.

 

Bucky kept an eye on the shack the rest of the day. Eventually, he was forced to leave to get his horse, but he stabled her elsewhere and paid for two nights. He wanted to know what would happen when the three days passed and his target was still alive.

 

Bucky settled back on the roof to wait. The full moon was close, but he was willing to take the risk. He didn’t need to eat or drink, not if he lay still and kept his heartbeat slow. His target didn’t leave the shack.

 

As the day went by, Bucky found his gaze fixing on the boy instead of watching for anyone approaching. He lay on the roof at an angle where he could peer through the window, just looking at him. Even from this distance, Bucky could see the definition in his body, the light freckles dusting his shoulders and forearms, he couldn’t count the individual hairs, but his eyelashes were nearly clear in the sunlight. Bucky thought that he could understand why this boy had so valuable despite his troublemaking for so long. He was very handsome, beautiful in an otherworldly sort of way that made Bucky think of the old stories of fae and nature spirits.

 

The second night, two hooded women came to the shack. Bucky watched through the window, but they were just bringing him food. The boy took it, spoke with them a short while, and they left. He ate some of it, but hid the rest in his satchel. He didn’t unpack, nor did he seem to be settling in for a long stay. Perhaps he thought he’d be asked back to the brothel.

 

The third night, nothing happened. Bucky snuck away the third morning to pilfer some bread and jerky, then settled back on the rooftop to keep watch. If nothing happened by the next morning, he’d have to leave.

 

It had been three days since he’d arrived and the full moon was nearing. Bucky found himself flexing his fingers restlessly, watching the shack with eyes that kept unfocusing. If nothing happened, then Steve really was only a nuisance and he could forget about it, someone else would be hired to kill him and Bucky could move on with his life.

 

Bucky spotted six hooded figures nearing from all sides. Bucky let out a sigh and armed his crossbow. They were spread out, and he took out the furthest three quickly before dropping from the rooftop onto the fourth’s back. He plunged a knife into his throat, jumped off him, and ran for the fifth. He shot the sixth on his way before taking the fifth to the ground and slitting his throat.

 

Bucky stood and wiped his knife on the would-be assassin’s cloak.

 

“Try harder next time,” he told the dead body.

 

Then he headed for the shack.

 

The back window was open, probably to tempt a breeze. Bucky crawled through it and hit the ground with a thump. The Omega, previously prone on the straw mat, sat bolt upright and brandished a long knife at him.

 

“Come with me if you want to live, son of Sarah,” Bucky said simply.

 

The boy threw the knife. Bucky caught it easily and held it back out to him. “Seriously,” he added.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the boy demanded.

 

“Smith,” Bucky said.

 

“That’s the fakest name I’ve ever heard, motherfucker,” the boy snapped.

 

He jumped to his feet and jabbed his knife at Bucky, who casually parried it away with his left hand before smacking a fist under the boy’s wrist and knocking it from his grip. He caught it, and then held it back out to him. Some off-topic part of his brain decided to register that, up close, the boy was certainly quite attractive. His eyes were a clear, bright blue, his lips plump and pink, his cheekbones and jaw sharp. Bucky smacked himself mentally and refocused.

 

“Does it matter?” Bucky asked. “There are six assassins outside your shack who came to kill you, only I killed them first. Come with me if you want to live.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who the hell you are and why you’re here!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky sighed heavily. “Look,” he said. Steve thrust the point of his knife under Bucky’s chin and Bucky finally got frustrated. He smacked it out of his hand again, took the blade in his left hand, and then snapped it.

 

Steve gawked at him. Bucky tossed the pieces – not pure iron, probably mixed with copper by the way it bent before it snapped – onto the ground.

 

“I’m called White Wolf,” he said. “I was hired to kill you. I saw you standing up to the soldiers and figured that if someone wanted you dead so bad that they hired _me,_ you had to be a threat to the Cretans, and anything that threatens the Cretans is cool with me. Got it?” he said shortly, and without even waiting for him to answer, bent and picked up his satchel. “Let’s go.”

 

“Holy fuck,” Steve said under his breath.

 

Bucky blinked at him and raised his eyebrows. Steve shook himself and took his bag, clutching it to his chest as he continued to gape.

 

“I can carry you if you’re not gonna move,” Bucky told him.

 

“ _You’re_ the White Wolf?” Steve said.

 

“And?” Bucky answered with a shrug.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve muttered. “I thought you’d be taller.”

 

Bucky didn’t smile. In fact, he glowered. “Do you want to get killed in your sleep or what? Let’s go.”

 

Bucky headed for the window. Steve hesitated, but followed him. Bucky hopped out of the shack, then, because his ma taught him manners, he turned and offered a hand to the Omega. Steve totally ignored him and clambered out of the shack with some difficulty. Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“I’ve got a horse stabled on the other side of town,” Bucky said over his shoulder, walking towards the line of buildings behind the shantytown. It was nearly dawn and the gates would be opening soon. “We can figure out where you’re gonna go and why the Cretans want you dead once we’re on the road.”

 

“Uh, where are you going?” Steve called.

 

Bucky, at the foot of a building, paused to turn around. “Up,” he said simply.

 

Steve blinked a couple times at him. “You’re climbing the building,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered.

 

“What am I supposed to do?” Steve demanded. “I can’t scale a shear wall.”

 

“There’s handholds,” Bucky defended the shear wall.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. Bucky let out a heavy sigh and walked back to him, then turned and crouched.

 

“Climb on,” he said.

 

“No,” Steve answered.

 

“Climb me or the building,” Bucky snapped.

 

“Can’t we just _walk?_ ”

 

“Look around!” Bucky hissed. He pointed to the slumped figures of the men who’d been sent to kill Steve and the boy shut up. “The Cretan regime wants you _dead,_ and their patience runs thin quick, they don’t do subterfuge. You wanna live, do what I tell you!”

 

Steve blinked at him. “Gods,” he muttered.

 

Bucky glowered at him. “One,” he said.

 

“Are you counting?” Steve demanded.

 

“Two!” Bucky threatened.

 

“I’m not a child!”

 

“Three!” Bucky spat, then lunged. Steve yelped as Bucky grabbed him around the middle, then started kicking his hands and feet while Bucky settled him over his shoulders. “Quit squirming,” he snapped. “Unless you want to fall off.”

 

“Put me down!” Steve hissed.

 

“Nope,” Bucky said. He headed for the wall again. Steve cursed under his breath and dug his knees into Bucky’s chest and back, his hands grabbing fistfuls of his clothing, and Bucky made a running start. He grunted as he grabbed a window ledge with his left hand, then swung himself up to the next outcrop. Steve’s weight slowed him down, but he got to the top of the building with little effort.

 

“I’ll ride on your back, just put me down!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky crouched and Steve scrambled to get down. Bucky stood and Steve bumped into him, apparently having gone to get on his back.

 

“There’s no more wall scaling,” Bucky told him. “Can you jump the gap between roofs?”

 

Steve looked past Bucky’s shoulder and grimaced. “Some of the narrower ones,” he muttered.

 

Bucky exhaled heavily. “I can toss you.”

 

Steve grimaced harder. “You’ll probably have to.”

 

Bucky shook his head and headed for the roof’s edge. “Just don’t do nothin’ stupid,” he said.

 

Steve ran past him and leapt across the gap. Bucky sighed again. “Like that.”

 

Bucky jumped the gap and landed in a crouch. Steve staggered a few steps, wincing.

 

“Did you break anything?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve shook his head.

 

“I’ll toss you next time,” Bucky told him. Steve only scowled.

 

On his own, Bucky could have crossed the city in ten or fifteen minutes. Steve couldn’t run more than a minute, couldn’t jump anything greater than five feet, and had to stop every few roofs to wheeze quietly.

 

Bucky couldn’t understand what the hell was so dangerous about this kid that the Cretans hired mercenaries to take him out.

 

“You’re a twig,” Bucky commented, six roofs from where they could drop down. “How are you so… so…”

 

He made a vague gesture. Steve, leaning on his knees, glared at him.

 

“I got sick as a kid,” he rasped. “So my lungs don’t work the way they should. Smog doesn’t help.”

 

“Gods,” Bucky sighed under his breath, looking away from him. He looked down the river, to where the factories were burning coal. “This place should’ve stayed burned down.”

 

“What?” Steve wheezed.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky said. “It’s not far.”

 

Steve nodded, lifting off his knees. He coughed a few times, then gave Bucky a thumb’s up and stumbled toward the edge of the roof. Bucky caught him by the arm before he could trip over his own feet and fall off, then turned and crouched again. Steve climbed onto his back without a word.

 

Bucky had a hard time of it, crossing the next six roofs with Steve on his back, but he managed to do it. He nearly overbalanced a few times, but caught himself every time. He climbed down instead of jumping at the last roof, and knelt to let Steve slip off his back.

 

“This way,” Bucky said.

 

He checked the cloth covering his face and swung his right arm over Steve’s shoulders. Steve stiffened, but Bucky raised a finger to his lips over the cloth and Steve nodded, though he didn’t relax. Bucky started for the stable, glancing up and down the street constantly, and bypassed the stable hand entirely, though he was awake and waved at him. Bucky withdrew his arm from Steve’s shoulders at his horse’s stall and unlocked the gate, stepping in to put on her tackle.

 

The stable hand wandered over. “Everything alright, Mr. Smith?”

 

“Fine,” Bucky said, swinging the saddle onto the horse’s back.

 

“Right then,” the stable hand muttered, walking away. Bucky fixed the straps and fitted the saddlebags, then moved on to fit the horse with her bridle. Steve stepped into the mouth of the stall, wringing his hands under his cloak.

 

Bucky led her from the stall when he was done and swung onto her back. He turned and held out a hand to Steve. Steve looked at him, at his hand, and hesitantly took it. Bucky lifted him off his feet and swung him onto the saddle behind him, and Steve let out a quiet _oof_ as he hit Bucky’s back.

 

Bucky clicked his tongue at the horse and snapped the reins. She started to trot, her hooves clacking down the cobblestone, and after a second Steve pushed his arms around Bucky’s waist, holding onto the horn in front of him.

 

“We’ll talk outside the city,” Bucky told him.

 

“What’s your name?” Steve hissed in his ear.

 

“Smith,” Bucky answered. He pulled on the reins, turning his horse towards the western gates. “Put your hood up.”

 

Steve released the saddlehorn to pull up his hood. Bucky tapped his heels into the horse’s side and she sped up some. Steve grabbed the horn with a curse and Bucky found himself smiling a little vindictively.

 

“Haven’t you ever ridden a horse before?” Bucky asked him.

 

“No,” Steve snapped. “I’ve never left the city, why would I need to?”  


Bucky rolled his eyes. He could guess that Steve was glaring at him, but he didn’t care. He took the long way, so they could pass through the market and join the crowds heading in and out. At the gates, a pair of soldiers gave them a suspicious look, but before they could approach, Steve put a hand on Bucky’s stomach and laughed naturally, leaning into him. Bucky grinned like he was pleased with something, so his eyes would show it since the lower part of his face was covered, then Steve leaned over his shoulder and planted a kiss on his covered cheek.

 

The soldiers moved on. Bucky dropped the grin and spurred the horse on, past the gates.

 

“Good thinking,” Bucky said shortly.

 

“Thank you,” Steve answered. Bucky bet he had a smug grin on his face. He sounded smug. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

 

“No shit,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Steve patted his stomach. Bucky thought about telling him to put his hand back on the saddlehorn.

 

Bucky took the first branch off the main road and headed for the forest to the south. “So, what’d you do to piss off the Cretans?”

 

“No idea,” Steve said.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answered. “What’d you do?”  


“No, I really don’t know,” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky stared suspiciously between the horse’s ears. “You have to have some idea. Did you hear anything, fuck the wrong person, you’re secretly a witch, what?”

 

Steve stiffened behind him. “I dunno,” he mumbled. Bucky huffed and shook his head.

 

“Y’know, you’re real shy for a prostitute.”

 

“You’re real talkative for the most wanted assassin in Cretus,” Steve shot back.

 

Bucky shrugged. “I spent a while not talking, I’m catching up.”

 

“What’s your name?” Steve demanded.

 

“Smith,” Bucky said.

 

“When are you gonna tell me anything true about yourself?” Steve snapped.

 

“I’m a hundred and one years old,” Bucky told him.

 

“So, never,” Steve said in a flat tone.

 

Bucky smiled dryly and didn’t answer. That one, funny enough, was true.

 

As they neared the forest, Bucky reached into a bag and fumbled around for his maps. He drew it out and unrolled it, then shuffled papers around until he found the more current map.

 

“Your best bet is to hide out in the Nordic holds,” Bucky said over his shoulder. “So far, they’re doing the best at keeping a lid on Cretan expansion.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Steve said.

 

Bucky glanced once over his shoulder. Steve was looking at him with suspicion in his eyes.

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Because the Cretans want you dead and I want to do the opposite of everything they want?”

 

Steve squinted at him for a minute longer. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Fair enough,” Steve said eventually. “So, is this a contract? Do I have to pay you for doing this?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “If you want to.”

 

“I don’t have any money,” Steve told him.

 

It was Bucky’s turn to squint. “What’d’ya mean, you don’t have any money? Didn’t you say something about being the reason the Elderberry’s still in business?”  


“How did you know that?” Steve demanded.

 

“I was eavesdropping,” Bucky said. “I shot the soldier that went after your friend, the black kid.”

 

Steve gasped lightly. “That was _you?_ Why?”

 

“Because it’s fucked up,” Bucky insisted.

 

“You probably saved his life,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky glanced out of the corner of his eye. “He’ll be alright,” he assured the boy. “Kid like that’s tough. Besides, I doubt anybody there will remember his name or what he looks like.”

 

Steve nodded. “His uncle’s coming for him soon, anyway. I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s hardly any black folk left in these parts. They’ve all fled the Cretans.”

 

“I noticed,” Bucky told him, turning back to face the road. “We ought’a head for the Nordic holds –”  


“Lemme see your map,” Steve interrupted.

 

“Why?”

 

“Just give it!” Steve snapped. Bucky sighed, but handed over the current map. He held onto his old one, though.

 

“Here,” Steve said a second later. He pushed his arms past Bucky’s ribs and held the map up for him to see, pointing to a mountain range in the far west. “We should go here.”

 

Bucky glanced down, then jerked his gaze back and snatched the map from him. “You want to go _where?_ ”

 

“The West Mountains!” Steve said. “To Wakanda!”

 

“Wakanda’s a myth!” Bucky snapped. “We’re going to the Nordic holds.”

 

“Where do you think all the Betas have gone?” Steve shot back. “Wakanda’s real, it’s in those mountains. My friend Sam, he escaped there six months, he told me that the king said anybody fleeing the Cretans was welcome, no matter their designation or the color of their skin.”

 

“How’d he tell you that?” Bucky demanded.

 

“He sent a raven,” Steve answered flippantly.

 

“That’s the fakest line I ever heard, motherfucker,” Bucky answered. Steve hit him on the shoulder.

 

“Aren’t you s’posed to be _helping_ me?” he snapped. “It’s safest in Wakanda. Take me there.”

 

“Those mountains are months away,” Bucky said angrily. “It’ll only take a few weeks to reach the Nords. Besides, you’ve probably got family there.”

 

“You callin’ me pale?” Steve retorted.

 

“I ain’t callin’ you nothing,” Bucky answered. “You just look like a Nord. A skinny one, at least.”

 

“I’m not Nordic,” Steve said. Bucky heard his tone losing venom and nearly looked over his shoulder to check if he was deflating. “My family has been living in Brooklyn since it was rebuilt, but we were knights back when Yorke had a king. I’m the first one to leave.”

 

Bucky looked at the road ahead of them. “I’m sorry,” he said.

 

He’d been the same.

 

Steve was silent then, and Bucky wondered if he had known Steve’s ancestors. It was possible.

 

“What’s your family name?” Bucky asked.

 

“What’s it to you?” Steve muttered.

 

“Humor me,” Bucky said.

 

He heard Steve snort and looked over his shoulder to see him shake his head.

 

“Tell me your name first,” Steve said. “I’m not just calling you Smith for the next few months.”

 

“Weeks,” Bucky corrected. “We’re going to the Nords.”

 

“Months,” Steve insisted. “I’m going to Wakanda.”

 

Bucky scowled. “You’re a stubborn one, ain’t you?”

 

Steve grinned without mirth. “Stubborn as a mule,” he promised, and Bucky sighed. “Look, you can take me to Wakanda, or I can take myself. It doesn’t mean shit to me.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky snapped. There was a full moon coming in the next few days anyway, and if they’d be stuck together for the next few months, Steve would just have to know. “We’ll go to Wakanda.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve said self-importantly. Bucky rolled his eyes. “So what’s your name?”

 

“Bucky,” he sighed. “Short for Buchanan.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Buchanan,” Steve said. Bucky groaned. “My family name is Rogers, by the way.”

 

Bucky blew out his breath. A fairly common name, then. He couldn’t know if he’d known Steve’s grandparents just by that.

 

“What’s your history, then?” Steve asked.

 

“Ugly,” Bucky told him simply.

 

“C’mon, we’re gonna have to spend a lotta time in close quarters here on out, we might as well get to know each other.”

 

“You don’t want to know me,” Bucky said.

 

Steve was quiet a minute. Bucky shook open his map and searched the forests for towns far off from Cretan outposts. If they were going to be on the road for months, they’d need better supplies. Hell, Bucky was going to have to buy a cart. He couldn’t spend the next few months with Steve plastered to his back like this.

 

“How do you know?” Steve said quietly.

 

“Know what?” Bucky answered absently.

 

“That I don’t want to know you.”

 

Bucky stared at the map a while longer. “There’s a village on the northern edge,” he said. “We can cut to there and stock up for the journey, then take the forest up to the River Titan and follow it around the western coast.”

 

“How do you know I don’t want to know you?” Steve asked again.

 

“Because no one wants to know me,” Bucky snapped. “Just… Leave it.”

 

“I’d like to know something about you, more than your name and what you do for a living,” Steve insisted. “I mean, we’re going to be together at least three months, and I’ll have a heat in mid-autumn whether I know you or not.”

 

Bucky found the back of his neck getting hot. “We’ll find you a maiden aunt,” he muttered to his map. Steve snorted.

 

“You’ll get a day’s warning, at the most.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky snarked. “You’re the sweetest Omega a guy could hope for.”

 

Steve said nothing and Bucky tried to pretend that he didn’t care if Steve was offended. He folded up his maps and stowed them back in the saddlebag, taking up the reins again in both hands.

 

“Does it really bother you to talk about your past?”

 

Bucky sighed heavily and shrugged. “It’s just not pretty.”

 

“I wouldn’t have expected it to be,” Steve said. “You’re a wanted mercenary. Nothing about you is pretty.”

 

Bucky snorted, just as Steve gave a considering hum and added: “Maybe your face. If you ever took that mask off.”

 

Bucky chose not to respond. His cheeks were heating under the mask.

 

“Can I be frank with you?”

 

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “If you like.”

 

“You were hired to kill me,” Steve started. “And now you’re taking me out into the middle of nowhere and refusing to tell me much more than your name. You gotta see how I’m suspicious.”

 

“That just makes you either real lucky or real stupid,” Bucky answered.

 

“Nah, I got a death wish, is all.”

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. Steve was staring at the trees, his face serious. Bucky decided not to push it.

 

“My favorite color’s blue,” he offered. He felt Steve turning to look at the back of his head. “I actually like salted meat, but not fish. Never fish. And I don’t know how to swim.”

 

“How don’t you know how to swim?” Steve demanded.

 

“Never learned,” Bucky said. “Which, yeah, was stupid ‘cause I grew up in a fishing village. But I just never learned.”

 

“Where’d you grow up?” Steve asked.

 

There, Bucky hesitated. “‘Round here,” he said eventually.

 

“Where?”

 

“‘Round,” Bucky answered. Steve huffed quietly behind him.

 

“Why’s blue your favorite color?” Steve asked.

 

“Why not?” Bucky told him. “What’s yours?”

 

“Too many to choose,” was the answer.

 

Bucky nodded slowly, but didn’t press for more. Steve fell silent, and so did he. The horse tossed her head as a ray of sunlight slipped through the canopy, and Steve’s hands were getting loose on the saddlehorn.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“No,” Bucky said. “Did you think I would?”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I… I didn’t really think about it? I just followed you.”

 

Bucky thought about saying that Steve had done plenty of complaining before he’d started following Bucky’s lead, but didn’t. He thought about asking if Steve had been joking about having a death wish, and decided against it.

 

“What about your family?” Bucky asked abruptly. He yanked hard on the reins and the horse nickered angrily, stomping her hooves. Steve gasped as they rocked on the horse’s back and grabbed fistfuls of Bucky’s clothes, but he hardly noticed. “Shit, they’ll be in danger, too –”

 

“I don’t have any family,” Steve interrupted. Bucky let the reins go slack. The horse tossed her head, but didn’t move. “They’re all dead or gone.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered.

 

He felt Steve shrugging. His hands didn’t move from Bucky’s front. “It is what it is.”

 

Bucky stared into space for a moment, then dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and clicked his tongue. She started walking again, then started a light canter when he tapped his heels again. Steve didn’t offer anything further, and Bucky didn’t ask.

 

“How old really are you?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky sighed. “Look, kid –”

 

“I’m not a kid, I’m 21 years old!”

 

“ _Kid,_ ” Bucky repeated emphatically, because 21 was laughable compared to his actual age, “I don’t know about you, but I’d like a few minutes of silence.”

 

“Seriously?” Steve grumbled behind him.

 

Bucky sighed again and thought, yeah, he was going to buy a wagon. Maybe he could hit the kid over the head and let him sleep it off in the back.

 

“You look younger than me,” Steve muttered.

 

“I am older,” Bucky assured him. Though, he was mildly offended that Steve thought he looked younger. He’d managed to age a few years since he was nineteen.

 

“How much older?”

 

“A lot older,” Bucky said. Steve huffed and Bucky didn’t offer any further information.

 

For good reason. Bucky was a wanted man, twice. The White Wolf had a bounty of 50,000 gold on his head, dead or alive. The Winter Soldier?

 

The Cretans were offering a million last he’d heard. And the Winter Soldier was wanted alive. Bucky would already have to keep an eye on Steve to make sure he didn’t try to collect on the White Wolf’s bounty, but anybody could be a fool for a million gold. He’d have to wait until the right moment to tell the boy who he was traveling with.

 

“What supplies do you already have?” Steve asked.

 

“Not enough for two people,” Bucky said. “And we’ll need disguises.”

 

A thought occurred to him, and because he was a vicious bastard, he thought it was the perfect plan.

 

“We’ll pretend to be a couple,” he said. “So you’ll need some dresses.”  


“I’m not pretending to be a woman!” Steve spluttered.

 

“It won’t be difficult,” Bucky said.

 

“Listen here, you fuckwad,” Steve growled and Bucky found himself trying not to laugh. “You come near me with a petticoat and I’ll strangle you with it.”

 

“Well, poor folk like us wouldn’t be able to afford a petticoat,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“Bucky!”

 

“Well, we could pretend to be brothers,” Bucky conceded, “but they already know you’re an Omega and so the best disguise for you would be a dress.”

 

“What about you, huh?” Steve demanded. “You gonna put a skirt on, too?”

 

“That just wouldn’t make sense,” Bucky told him. He was enjoying this too much. “We can dress you up as a girl easy, me? I’m obviously a man. Hence why I pretend to be your husband.”

 

“Well, you’d better keep your hands to yourself, husband,” Steve snarled. “I ain’t free.”

 

“I’m sure I could afford you,” Bucky said.

 

Steve hit him on the shoulder. Bucky cracked a grin, but only because Steve couldn’t see it.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve declared.

 

“D’you know, the contract I got for your head only said two things about you: You’re trouble, and you’re mouthy.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“It should’ve said you’s a little shit.”

 

Steve hit him again. Bucky chuckled. His face hurt from the smile he was still sporting. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d smiled.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve said again.

 

“Lemme buy you dinner first,” Bucky said.

 

Steve groaned loudly in frustration, and Bucky, quite pleased with himself, snapped the reins to make the horse speed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ayyyy where there is trouble, there is steve rogers. i hope y'all are super into this bc i spent way too long writing it. see you tomorrow!_


	3. THE INN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all the response for this has been so great, i'm so glad y'all are excited for this bc there is so much drama and intrigue in our future. enjoy!_

#  _[THE INN]_

 

They left Brooklyn at dawn and entered Glendale a few hours past noon. As they neared the town, Bucky swung a leg off the horse and hopped down, before taking the reins and walking the horse onward. Steve, still on her back, held the scarf Bucky had been using to hide his face around his chin with a scowl.

 

It was difficult, but not impossible to have him imitate a woman without a woman’s clothes. The head covering and pulling his cloak around him tighter did enough of a trick.

 

“I feel like an idiot,” Steve hissed down to him.

 

“You’re fine, Jane,” Bucky said.

 

“I don’t wanna be called Jane!”

 

“Mary?” Bucky said. “Elizabeth? Anne?”

 

“What’s wrong with Stephanie?” Steve snapped. “Or Stevie?”

 

“Too easy,” Bucky scoffed. “How about Susan?”

 

Steve let out a long groan and Bucky smiled to himself. He didn’t like having to give up his mask, but it wasn’t like the wanted posters had his face on them anyway. He’d been muzzled when the Cretans found him and hadn’t gone around with his face bare since.

 

At any rate, Glendale was still a small town. His mask would have stuck out. It was bad enough he wore leather armor and dark clothes, most people around these parts were farmers, and Bucky was dressed like a ranger.

 

“Do you ever wash this thing?” Steve demanded.

 

“If I get blood on it,” Bucky answered calmly. Steve made a noise of disgust and Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’ll get you a different headscarf, Your Majesty.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Steve grumbled.

 

“Sorry, Susan,” Bucky said. Steve huffed again. “Now, remember to keep your mouth shut, there’s no way to hide how deep your voice is.”

 

“Not like people let Omegas talk lots anyway,” Steve complained in a mutter. Bucky pursed his lips and said nothing. He had a point.

 

The gates of the town were open and flanked by Cretan soldiers. Bucky kept his gaze on the ground except to glance occasionally at Steve, who was staring between the horse’s ears.

 

Everyone going in was being stopped by the soldiers, to ask their business, Bucky presumed. Glendale, like many other things, had grown in size and importance since Bucky had last seen it. The traffic entering shuffled along with slow feet, and Bucky held a firm grip on the horse’s reins to keep her steady. Steve clutched his cloak around his body like he was hiding and held the scarf in the other hand. It wasn’t quite long enough to tie under his chin the way most women’s scarves did. It would be a little suspicious, especially given its color, but Bucky figured he could claim they’d been robbed and it was all he had to hide his wife’s modesty.

 

They reached the soldiers, who waved them forward and stopped them.

 

“Business?” one demanded.

 

“Picking up supplies,” Bucky said.

 

“Names?”

 

“James and Susan Smith,” Bucky told them. Partial truths were the way to trick these people.

 

The soldiers eyed Steve and Bucky cleared his throat pointedly, fixing them both with a light glare.

 

“I’ll need to search her,” Soldier Two said.

 

“You will do no such thing!” Bucky shot back harshly.

 

“I will,” the soldier countered. “Get her off the horse.”

 

Steve opened his mouth and Bucky put a hand on his leg, shooting him a placating look before turning back to the soldiers.

 

“Please be considerate,” he said, then lowered his tone. “We’re traveling to her family in the west, but last night we were attacked by bandits. They took everything we had while we slept.”

 

He flicked his eyebrows up and gave them a pained look. “They only left us with the clothes we were wearing.”

 

Steve tugged the cloak around him tighter, as though he were only wearing his night things under it.

 

The soldiers hastily looked away from the Omega and at the ground. One cleared his throat and the other coughed, backing off.

 

“Sorry about that,” Soldier One said. “Carry on.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said sincerely, then clicked his tongue at the horse and started walking.

 

“Thanks a lot,” Steve hissed toward Bucky once they were into the town.

 

“Got us past ‘em, didn’t it?” Bucky hissed back. “Plus, gives us an excuse to buy you clothes.”

 

Steve glared at him. Bucky ignored him.

 

The market wasn’t far off. Bucky found an inn and tied the horse in front of it, then lifted Steve off the horse and put him on the ground.

 

“Quit scowling at me,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve stuck his tongue out. Bucky shoved it back into his mouth with a gloved hand, causing him to splutter and cough, then fixed his cloak and pushed him around the horse.

 

“We’ll stay the night here,” Bucky said as he pulled his saddlebags off the horse. “You stay in our room while I get supplies.”

 

Steve was scowling again when he turned around. “And get that look off your face,” he snapped. “I mean it.”

 

Bucky threw the saddlebags over his shoulder and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, pushing him up the steps. Steve looked at the ground, but mercifully quit scowling so hard. Bucky pushed into the inn and guided Steve into walking beside him, heading for the bar. It was mostly empty, being late afternoon, but an innkeeper stood behind the deserted bar.

 

“Afternoon,” the innkeeper greeted, polishing a glass but not looking at them. “How can I help you?”

 

“I need to rent a room for the night for my wife and I,” Bucky said. The innkeeper glanced up, looked at Steve and then away.

 

“I’ve got a few vacant,” the innkeeper said. “It’ll be nine gold, sir.”

 

Bucky let go of Steve’s shoulder to dig in his pocket. He made a show of frowning at his money and sighing softly before handing it over. The innkeeper tucked into a pocket of his apron and crooked a finger at them, walking down the bar.

 

“Third room on the left,” the innkeeper said, holding out a key to Bucky. “We do serve meals, to let ya know.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s shoulder again. Steve stepped closer to him, dropping his head. “Later, though.”

 

The innkeeper gave a nod and walked away, heading back to cleaning mugs. Bucky steered Steve towards the stairs and up them.

 

As soon as Bucky had the room unlocked, Steve pushed his way in and ripped the cloth off his head. Bucky shut and locked the door hastily while Steve threw the scarf onto the floor and dropped onto the bed to ruffle his hair.

 

“It’s hotter than hell out there,” Steve complained, “how do women wear those things all the time?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, walking to the window. He checked the lock, then yanked the curtains shut and dumped his pack and saddlebags on the end of the bed. “Budge up,” he said to Steve. The boy glared at him, but shuffled up the bed so Bucky could work. He dug around for a while, then dumped a roll of twine and a leather pouch onto the bed and started unraveling the twine.

 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky ignored him. He dug around in the pouch, pulling out a small bell, then walked back to the window, parting the curtain. He tied one end of the twine to the latch on the left pane, then pulled a knife from his belt and cut the twine at a few inches. He tied the bell to the cut end, then draped it over the other latch. He unlocked it and pushed the window open, and the bell chimed. He reset it and crossed to the bed.

 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked again, sounding more confused.

 

“Alarms,” Bucky answered shortly. He dug around for a tack, then walked back to the door and used the butt of his knife to fix it in the wall above the door. He tied another bell to it with twine, then sheathed the knife and walked to the bed again.

 

“You’re staying here,” Bucky said. “No point in having you walk around in your nightdress.”

 

Steve was probably glaring at him again, but Bucky was busy digging through his pack.

 

“Take this,” he said, shoving his hand crossbow into Steve’s chest. “And these,” he added, dropping bolts into his lap.

 

“I don’t know how to fire this,” Steve told him.

 

“Point and shoot,” Bucky told him. “It’s not hard, and these are close quarters anyway. Anybody comes through that door or window that isn’t me, you shoot.”

 

“Alright,” Steve grumbled.

 

Bucky laid a few daggers on the bed, then unstrapped the short sword from his back and gave that to Steve as well. He still had plenty of knives and the longsword at his waist.

 

“I’ll buy a tent if I can,” Bucky told him, then took out his coin purses and looked over them. He put one of the heavier ones on the bed with the other things. “If I’m not back by sunset, go out the window and run.”

 

“Okay?” Steve said. Bucky fixed his cloak around his left shoulder, hiding his arm and his sword, and opened the door. The bell jingled.

 

“Fix it so it’s on the right side,” Bucky told Steve, pointing up.

 

Steve stood and lifted onto his toes to fix the bell. Bucky jerked his gaze away from where Steve’s shirt lifted past his navel and pulled the door shut as soon as the bell was fixed.

 

Bucky took a deep breath outside and made his way back down the stairs.

 

He paused to ask the innkeeper if there was a stable nearby. The innkeeper gave him directions and Bucky thanked him before heading out.

 

He headed for the market, bypassing the grocery and hunter’s stalls. They’d eat off the land wherever they could, but Bucky didn’t need to buy raw food, and he needed to get other things first. There was a blacksmith and a carpenter, and between the two of them, Bucky was able to purchase a wagon. It was small, but for two people and one horse, it didn’t matter. He purchased a tent and a spare bedroll from the tanner, then picked up a bit of armor that would fit Steve and some good boots. There was a tailor’s shop, but Bucky picked a farmer’s stall that was selling pre-made goods to buy Steve clothes.

 

The seamstress he bought from looked at him funny when he bought women’s clothes, but didn’t ask questions. He bought a quilt, too, knowing that summer would be ending soon and it would be getting cold.

 

He still had plenty of money left, but Bucky didn’t like the idea of running low, so he figured they could make do with this much. He had a small mess kit in his pack already and it wasn’t like they’d need comfort on their journey.

 

He bought some waterskins and dried food before heading back to the inn. He loaded up his horse, then road her out to the carpenter’s shop to pick up the wagon. The sun was getting low by then, and Bucky simply drove the horse and wagon to the stables and paid to put them up for the night. He got back to the inn as the sun was dipping past the forest ringing the village.

 

Bucky knocked before opening the door. Steve still leveled the crossbow at him.

 

“Good reflexes,” Bucky told him, shutting the door and locking it. “We leave at first light.”

 

“Shouldn’t we be traveling by night?” Steve asked.

 

“Rule one of being on the run,” Bucky said, dropping what he’d carried back from the stables onto the floor in a pile, “walk, don’t run.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

 

Bucky started clearing off the bed. “We go by night, the watchtowers will see us and think _gee, a horse and cart traveling by night, that’s suspicious._ ”

 

“Alright, alright, you made your point.”

 

Bucky dumped the armload of things onto the floor with the rest of the pile, then dug out his bedroll and shook it out. “Get some sleep,” he said, lying down.

 

“Why are you on the floor?” Steve said.

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder. “Because there’s only one bed?”

 

Steve scooted against the wall and patted the space next to him. “There’s room for both of us. It’s not fair to make you sleep on the floor.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and settled back into his bedroll. “You’re not making me do anything, kid. Just go to sleep.”

 

“But you paid for the room, you should sleep in an actual bed!”

 

“Kid,” Bucky sighed, “I’ve slept on the floor more times than I can count, it’s fine.”

 

“What kinda wife would I be if I let my husband sleep on the floor?” Steve demanded.

 

Bucky screwed up his nose and glowered at the floor. Fuck this kid, honestly.

 

Well, not honestly, at least not literally. Bucky punched at his pillow and willed his dick to start thinking about other things than fucking this kid.

 

“We’re not actually married, Steve, let it go,” he said.

 

“Well, if you won’t share the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

 

“Gods alive,” Bucky cursed, rolling over to see Steve dropping a pillow and a blanket onto the floor. “Just take the damn bed, Steve!”

 

“You paid for the room,” Steve insisted, curling up on the floor.

 

“Fine!” Bucky sighed. He jerked up to his knees, then stood up and prodded Steve with a foot. “Get back on the bed, for gods’ sakes, we’ll share.”

 

Steve scrambled up and crawled onto the bed. Bucky threw the blanket at him, then the pillow and dropped onto the straw mattress with a huff.

 

“That wasn’t so hard,” Steve said smugly. Bucky shot him a glare, then rolled over to face away from him.

 

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Bucky growled.

 

“Same to you,” Steve answered. Bucky lifted up and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape before dropping back down to scowl at the wall.

 

Steve fell asleep quickly. Bucky could tell, because he heard his breathing and heartbeat slow. Bucky stared at the wall for a long time, trying to fall asleep, and when he was finally nearing the edge of sleep, Steve sniffed loudly and rolled over, throwing an arm around Bucky’s torso.

 

Bucky stiffened. Steve began snoring softly. Bucky carefully lifted his wrist and tossed it over his shoulder. Steve snorted, then threw it back and pressed against Bucky’s back. He nuzzled his face between Bucky’s shoulder blades.

 

Bucky scowled at the wall. Steve, still asleep, let out a content sound and went dead weight.

 

“I’m not sharing a bed with you again,” Bucky grumbled quietly. Steve didn’t respond.

 

Bucky managed to doze here and there. Steve didn’t quit spooning him, which was highly annoying. And adorable. Bucky mostly thought it was annoying. He maintained a firm, disgruntled attitude about the situation. Steve would occasionally make soft noises, smacking his lips or sighing in his sleep, and Bucky maintained that it was fucking annoying.

 

Damn kid and his damn cute pout.

 

Dawn rose, and normally Bucky would be fine having had hardly any sleep in a week, but it was nearing the full moon and he was pissy on a good day. The second sunlight started staining the curtains, Bucky threw Steve’s arm off of him and scrambled out of the bed. Steve snorted and sat up, blinking, while Bucky started packing up their shit.

 

“Time to get dressed, wifey,” Bucky snapped, tossing a bundle of clothes at Steve. Steve picked them up and made an unhappy face at them. “I wanna get out of here before the town wakes up.”

 

“I hate this,” Steve grumbled, but stood up and tugged his sandals off.

 

Bucky turned his back respectfully so Steve could change. He crouched to stuff his pack and had to take a second to slow his breathing and heartbeat, because Steve was naked behind him. Probably. Bucky put away his daggers, and in the flash of a reflection on a metal sheath, he saw Steve’s bare back. He crammed the dagger into his pack and took another second to stop breathing altogether so his dick would stop trying to fill with blood.

 

Bucky took a second to cast a glance skyward and ask the gods what the hell had possessed him to go on this journey. And how could he get away with taking the kid to the Nordic holds instead of to the complete other side of the continent.

 

He didn’t get an answer from the gods. They pretty much stopped answering him after the East Army captured him.

 

“You decent yet?” Bucky called out.

 

“I can’t get this damn corset tied!”

 

Bucky hazarded a glance over his shoulder, but Steve had most of his body covered so he stood up. Steve was struggling to tie his dress in the back, and Bucky batted his hands away. He cinched down the leather thongs and tied them, then tucked them under the back of the vest and turned Steve around.

 

Steve glared at him. Bucky looked him over, ignoring the look on his face, then knelt to pull the hem of the dress even. He took another second to look him up and down, and figured he looked like a particularly homely young girl. The dress wasn’t very flattering, there was a plain undershift, with frilled cuffs and a high collar, and a red tartan gown layered on top, laced in the front and back. A white apron lay abandoned on the bed that Steve would have to put on.

 

“I’m gonna boil alive,” Steve complained.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Bucky said.

 

“Least I ain’t got miles of hair to pin up,” Steve muttered to himself as he lifted a white sash and draped it over his head, tying it under his chin.

 

“You look very nice,” Bucky tried to say.

 

Steve looked at him out of the corner of his eye like he was ready to start hitting him. Bucky shrugged and picked up the apron, holding it out to him.

 

“I hate you,” Steve said under his breath, tying the apron around his waist.

 

“There are worse things to endure,” Bucky said.

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve announced. He flopped onto the bed and hiked up his skirt in order to tug on the boots Bucky had provided him, then flung the skirt’s hem away from him and looked around. “Where’s my cloak?”

 

Bucky handed it to him before lifting his own cloak and donning it. He positioned it over his left arm, double ensuring with it and his long sleeves and gloves that not a trace of metal would be visible.

 

“Are you done?” he asked Steve in a flat tone.

 

Steve pushed off the bed and smoothed out the skirt of his dress, then shot him a dirty look. “Fuck you,” he said. Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

He picked up his pack, then the saddlebags and threw those over his shoulders. He pulled the bells from the window and the door, putting them in a pouch at his waist, then unlocked the door and stepped out. Steve followed him, and Bucky offered him an arm.

 

Steve reluctantly, it seemed, curled an arm through Bucky’s elbow. Bucky gave him a glance, walking stiffly in his gown and fiddling with the scarf around his head every few seconds, then leaned down and hissed, “Stop scowling, wife.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, but smoothed his expression. Bucky gave his hand around his elbow a pat and started down the steps.

 

“Good morning!” the innkeeper greeted them with a smile. Bucky held up the key and put it on the bar. “Good night’s rest?”

 

“Yes, thank you,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve yawned, but hastily covered it with a hand.

 

“Perhaps some coffee to wake the missus up?” the innkeeper laughed.

 

“No, thanks,” Bucky answered, tugging Steve away. “Thank you for the hospitality!” he called as he pushed open the doors.

 

“Where’s the horse?” Steve muttered as they left.

 

“Stables,” Bucky said. “With the new wagon.”

 

“You seriously bought an entire wagon?” Steve hissed.

 

“Yes, now shuddup,” Bucky said out of the corner of his mouth. Someone passing waved and Bucky returned it with a smile. Steve curled his arm more around Bucky’s elbow and leaned on his shoulder. Bucky ignored him.

 

At the stables, Bucky tossed a copper coin to the stable hand in gratuity and headed for where their wagon was stowed. He pulled his arm away from Steve to dump his pack and saddlebags, then left him by the wagon to go fetch the horse. The saddle was already in the wagon, under the quilt Bucky had bought the day before, so he took what tackle was left in the stall, bridled her, and lead her to the wagon.

 

He hooked her up to it while Steve stood off to the side, hands in the pockets of his apron. Bucky clipped the reins into the terrets on the horse’s collars, then ran them back and draped them over the front of the wagon. He pulled the blocks from the wheels and turned to Steve.

 

“Don’t –” Steve said, even as Bucky grabbed him by the waist and swung him into the air to put in the wagon. Steve grabbed his shoulders, cursing. “– Do that!”

 

“Sorry, kid,” Bucky answered, putting him on his feet. He reached up and patted his cheek. “It’s too much fun.”

 

Steve was fuming as Bucky hoisted himself into the wagon. “I hate you,” he hissed to Bucky.

 

The stable hand was watching them. Bucky adopted a grin and leaned over to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek. Steve startled, reared back and pressed a hand to his cheek, blinking. Bucky lifted the reins and gave them a snap, whistling shrilly to the horse.

 

“Slow, girl!” he called. The horse tossed her head and nickered, but started at a light trot.

 

Bucky had driven plenty of carts in his life. Just not in crowded areas. His horse had been a farmhouse before he purchased her, so the wagon’s shafts or weight didn’t spook her, but he kept her at a slow pace to steer her from the stable and through the thankfully empty streets. Only the vendors were up and moving at that hour, and they were considerate enough to step out of the way as they passed.

 

The soldiers were just opening the gates. One called for them to stop and Bucky pulled on the reins, uttering a soft, “Whoa, girl.”

 

Two soldiers approached the wagon. They were not the same men who had met them at the gates the day before, and for that, Bucky counted them lucky.

 

“Your business?” the shorter demanded.

 

“Traveling to my wife’s family,” Bucky told them.

 

“We have to search your cart,” the soldier said.

 

Bucky put an arm around Steve’s shoulders and tugged him a little nearer, trying to appear possessive. “Fine,” he said. The soldiers didn’t look at Steve.

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder to watch them pull back the blanket. They rifled through their things a minute, then seemed satisfied and tossed the blanket back. They hopped down from the wagon’s sides and walked back in front of the cart.

 

“They’re clear!” one soldier called to the men atop the gates. “Open ‘em up!”

 

“Safe travels,” the second soldier said to Bucky. He glanced briefly at Steve and Bucky drew him in a little tighter, shooting the boy a glare. The soldier ducked his head and hastened to return to his post. Bucky gave a satisfied nod and snapped the horse’s reins, giving a clear whistle.

 

His horse whinnied and started to trot. Bucky gave a glance over his shoulder at the town’s gates getting smaller, then looked ahead with a huff.

 

Abruptly, Steve laughed.

 

“What’s so funny?” Bucky grumbled to him.

 

“Alphas,” Steve sniggered. “I ain’t even your Omega for real, and you’re glaring at men for _looking_ at me.”

 

“I’m playing the part!” Bucky defended himself.

 

Steve laughed again, shaking his head. Bucky growled to himself under his breath and set his face in a scowl, snapping the reins again. The horse picked up a little more speed.

 

“What’s her name?” Steve said.

 

“Whose?” Bucky answered distractedly.

 

“The horse!” Steve said, nudging Bucky with his shoulder. “You never said.”

 

Bucky frowned at the horse. “She doesn’t have one.”

 

Steve went quiet and Bucky glanced at him. He was gaping. “What?”

 

“You _never_ named your horse?”

 

“It’s a horse,” Bucky said defensively. “What’s the point?”

 

“She’s a magnificent animal!” Steve insisted.

 

“She’s a horse!”

 

Steve leaned forward off the wagon; Bucky snatched the back of his cloak and hefted him back on the bench, saying, “You’ll fall off, fool!”

 

“Hey, hands off!” Steve snapped, waving him away. He dropped to his knees in the footwell and reached out for the horse. Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re a magnificent animal,” Steve said matter-of-factly to the horse. “And since your master is an idiot, I’ll name you.”

 

“Gods spare me,” Bucky said under his breath.

 

“I christen you Susan,” Steve said, patting the horse’s rump with his fingertips.

 

“I’m not calling her Susan,” Bucky said. “That’s you!”

 

“Then what do you want to call her?” Steve demanded, leaning back on his heels. “Spot?”

 

“No!” Bucky scoffed.

 

Steve rolled his eyes at him. “You gotta name her something!”

 

“I’ve had her for eight years now, I’ve never had to name her!”

 

“You’ve had her eight years and you never named her!”

 

“That’s what I just said,” Bucky said with a shrug.

 

Steve gaped at him a while longer. He turned around and patted the horse as best as he could, and the horse nickered in confusion. “I christen you – uh, Patchouli.”

 

The horse flicked her tail up and Steve jerked his hand away. Bucky laughed at him.

 

“Shuddup!” Steve said, scrambling back onto the bench. “She likes the name!”

 

“How do you know?” Bucky demanded. “She flicked you away like a fly!”

 

“Shuddup!” Steve said again, his ears red. Bucky chuckled to himself and ignored the off-topic part of his brain that said Steve was cute when he was blushing. “She likes the name.”

 

“If you say so, kid,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve said nothing else. Bucky fell into old habits and remained silent. The sun climbed higher in the sky. Occasionally, other travelers passed; they were on the main road. Each time, Bucky put an arm around Steve’s shoulders in a possessive manner, and Steve knew better than to protest. And as soon as the coast was clear, Bucky let go of him and put a few inches between their bodies.

 

Steve was very warm. Bucky, on the other hand, felt like there was ice in his bones that stubbornly refused to melt every time he had to let go.

 

“Let’s play a game,” Steve said randomly.

 

Bucky almost unhinged his jaw in trying to unclench it. “What game?” he said, but his voice was raspy and he cleared his throat, repeating it. Steve shot him a confused look out of the corner of his eye but didn’t ask.

 

“A get-to-know-you game,” he said.

 

Bucky exhaled heavily. “I told you, you don’t want to know me.”

 

“Yes, except I do,” Steve countered. Bucky rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s an easy one. Two truths and a lie.”

 

“What now?” Bucky repeated.

 

“Two truths and a lie,” Steve said. “You tell me three things about you. Two of them are true and one isn’t. Then I guess which is the lie. We take turns.”

 

Bucky shook his head, but he was smiling a little. Steve nudged his arm with a shoulder. He was sitting on Bucky’s right, so Bucky was able to feel it.

 

“It’ll be fun,” Steve said.

 

“Y’know,” Bucky sighed, “if you really wanna know that much about me, why don’t we just swap truths? You tell me why the Cretans want you dead and I’ll answer one question.”

 

Steve looked away from him. Bucky glanced at him once, then looked back and frowned as he found Steve leaning on his knees with his head angled down. The scarf over his hair also blocked his profile from Bucky’s vision, so he couldn’t gauge anything in his face.

 

“I guess I might as well tell you,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky frowned harder at Steve’s abrupt attitude of resignation.

 

“But –” Steve started and broke off. He clenched his fists and sat up straight, ramrod straight, keeping his gaze downward. “Promise you won’t – You won’t freak out, or nothing. And you won’t just give me to the Cretans yourself.”

 

“Gods, kid, what’d you do?” Bucky muttered.

 

“Promise!” Steve hissed. He still didn’t look around and Bucky found the reins going slack in his hand, though the horse kept walking. “I swear, I don’t mean to, and I don’t use it unless I have to – It’s harmless –”

 

“Steve, calm down,” Bucky said. He had the urge to put a hand on his shoulder, to shake some sense into him, but held back. “What is it?”

 

Steve stared downward. “I can use magic.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. He shrugged and pulled on the slack on the reins, whistling to make the horse pick up some of the speed she’d lost in his lapse of concentration.

 

“So, they wanna make you work for them or something?” Bucky guessed. “But why would they want you dead, then?”

 

Steve didn’t answer. Bucky glanced at him; his mouth was hanging open. “What?”

 

“You’re –” Steve said, then visibly swallowed. Bucky jerked his gaze away from his throat and fixed it on the road ahead. “You’re not afraid of me?”

 

“Should I be?” Bucky asked. “I mean, magic’s pretty rare, sure, but it’s not like you suck the life out of people you touch.”

 

He met a girl like that once. She lived a very long, lonely life.

 

“I can use magic!” Steve hissed.

 

Bucky shrugged again. “So how come you ended up in a brothel instead of using your gift? No offense.”

 

“It’s not a gift!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky looked at him sharply. “What?”

 

“I’m cursed!” Steve insisted. “The gods – They cursed me, I must’ve done something awful in a past life – Bucky, I’m a monster.”

 

Bucky’s eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted as Steve spoke and he found himself blinking dumbly when he finished.

 

“Because you can use magic?” Bucky said carefully.

 

Steve nodded at him like he as an idiot. “Why else would the Cretans want me dead? It was magic that leads the East Army to conquer Cadör, the Eastmarch was full of witches!”

 

“The East Army only had nine witches,” Bucky snapped. “And if this is some bullshit thing the Cretans are pulling, then quit thinking of your gift like that. You’re the furthest thing from a monster I can think of, and I know monsters.”

 

 _Personally,_ he added mentally.

 

“You said you were from here?” Steve demanded. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Bucky slowly realized his blunder and sighed. “The Cretans put that in _after_ the East Army was defeated, didn’t they?”

 

“Forty years ago, yeah!” Steve said.

 

“Well, I’ve only been around for twenty years at this point,” Bucky said with a sigh. Fuck it, if Steve was a witch, he’d probably be able to pull it out of Bucky’s mind sooner or later, anyway. And if he tried to attack, Bucky wouldn’t have much guilt over killing him if the Cretans just wanted him dead out of prejudice.

 

Or, at least he told himself that.

 

“What are you talking about?” Steve said.

 

“I’m a hundred and one years old,” Bucky said, not looking at him. “Here’s your truth, Steve. I was the Winter Soldier.”

 

Steve was silent a long time. Bucky waited for him to react.

 

“The White Wolf and the Winter Soldier are the same person?” Steve asked carefully.

 

Bucky nodded once. “Speaking of which,” he started, because everyone knew that the Winter Soldier was one of the last werewolves in Cadör, “when the full moon gets here? I’m gonna have to go away for a day or so. I’ll leave you with all my weapons, there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

 

“That is so cliche,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky frowned and glanced at him. “What?”

 

“The White Wolf is a _werewolf?_ ” Steve said.

 

“That’s what you focus on?” Bucky muttered with a scowl.

 

“Did you even think about that alias before you picked it?” Steve demanded.

 

“Hey, I had that name before I got turned into a werewolf,” Bucky defended himself. “I got it when I was in the army.”

 

“You were in the army!” Steve gasped. “You would’ve been in the army when the Eastmarch first invaded!”

 

Bucky winced. “Yeah. I was captured after the king was killed.”

 

“You fought in the Last Battle of Yorke!” Steve whispered.

 

“Can we go back to the part where you think magic is a curse?” Bucky asked. “Because I’d rather argue with you about that.”

 

“You’re the Winter Soldier!” Steve gasped again. “Oh, gods, you’re the Winter Soldier!”

 

“I don’t know what the stories say about me,” Bucky started, but Steve interrupted.

 

“You were enslaved using dark magic.”

 

Bucky gave a nod of his head. “Yeah, that.”

 

“How did you become a werewolf?” Steve asked, tilting his head to the side. “Nobody knows for sure.”

 

Bucky clenched his jaw and looked away.

 

“Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” Steve said hastily.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky mumbled. “But, truth for a truth. What kinda magic can you do?”

 

Steve drew in on himself, pulling his legs up onto the bench. “You first.”

 

Bucky sighed heavily, but, then again, his memories of Erskine’s elixir and the three years he spent being experimented on by Schmidt were hazy and at worst left a bad taste in his mouth to recall it. He had no memories of the time he spent under Schmidt’s control, either, given that Schmidt’s spell rendered his mind absent and his body operating under Schmidt’s will. But if magic had been outlawed for the whole of Steve’s life, he probably could remember all the fear and shame he’d felt for being capable of it.

 

“There was this alchemist,” Bucky started. “Schmidt was trying to create the philosopher’s stone, but not really. He wanted to create the ultimate human. You know who Johann Schmidt is, right?” he asked with a glance to Steve, who nodded. “Anyway, he took a bunch of us from the battlefield, the ones who weren’t yet dead but too far gone to be worth the bother of patching up for forced labor. Spent years testing serums and potions on us, but none of them worked the way he wanted. Most of us died, I can’t tell you why _I_ survived.”

 

“Probably because you’re a little shit and the gods wanted to punish you,” Steve grumbled.

 

Bucky paused while Steve turned red and spluttered an apology out, until Bucky started laughing.

 

“Shh, shh,” Bucky worked out between laughs, “quit apologizing, that was funny.”

 

“It was horrible!” Steve insisted.

 

“Pal,” Bucky sighed, “lemme tell you, I didn’t know I even _knew_ how to laugh anymore until I met you.” Again, he had the urge to voluntarily touch Steve, to put a hand on him or nudge their shoulders together, for no reason other than he could. He didn’t. “I say that was funny, so shuddup.”

 

Steve shut up. Bucky chuckled to himself for a little while longer.

 

“Anyway, you’re one to talk,” he added.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. Bucky shook his head, still grinning.

 

“Whatever it was, I survived,” Bucky started again. “Schmidt got fed up with doing all the dirty work himself one day, I guess, because this alchemist came in. Name was Erskine. I don’t know what he did, but he fed me this elixir. From what I can remember? I spent about a week just in so much pain I was probably wishing I would die. When I came to, I wasn’t human anymore.”

 

He trailed off. Steve beside him was quiet, and Bucky shrugged lightly.

 

“Schmidt enslaved me after that,” he said. “I don’t remember anything up until the Cretans found me twenty years ago and broke the spell.”

 

“You’re still human,” Steve said softly.

 

Bucky glanced at him. Then, feeling abruptly vicious, he transferred the reins to his left hand and tugged off his right glove. He held up his gnarled and clawed hand to the light, flexing his fingers. The joints popped sickeningly, but Steve didn’t even flinch.

 

“If we’re talkin’ monsters, kid,” Bucky said, cold to his own hand. “Can’t get much worse than a werewolf.”

 

Steve reached up. Bucky saw his fingers out of the corner of his eye and jerked his hand away, stopping when he saw the look on Steve’s face.

 

“Is your whole body like that?” he asked.

 

Bucky glanced at his hand, then at Steve’s fingers still outstretched. Steve wanted to touch him. He wanted to touch his wolfish hand. It had been so long since someone had touched Bucky without the intention of inflicting pain.

 

Stupidly, Bucky let his hand fall into Steve’s palm. Steve pulled it a little closer and ran his fingers over the tips of Bucky’s hardened nails, ugly and yellow, then traced the leathery skin down the back of his hand to his wrist.

 

“It’s just that hand,” Bucky said after a minute. “Left one –”

 

He took his hand away from Steve to hold the reins again and pulled the left glove off with his teeth. Steve let out a quiet breath as the silver caught the light and Bucky tucked the reins back into his palm.

 

“This goes up to my shoulder,” Bucky said, waving his left hand. “I don’t remember why or when I got it. I built up a tolerance to silver because of it, though.”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve said.

 

Bucky looked at it, then at Steve. “It’s a weapon,” he said haltingly.

 

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful,” Steve argued. He reached across Bucky, not even hesitating, and took his left hand to smooth his fingers over it. Steve was very… Tactile, Bucky thought. He ignored the sensory input from his left hand and fixed his gaze on the road. “How does it work?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I assume it’s part magic, part mechanical. There’s a crystal set in the shoulder, I figured that was the power source.”

 

“Could I see it?” Steve asked, eyes sparkling.

 

Bucky hesitated. “Maybe another time,” he said, picking up his gloves again.

 

Bucky saw the flash of disappointment in Steve’s eyes and decided to ignore it, too.

 

“That’s my truth,” he said. “It’s your turn.”

 

Steve drew away from him, shrugging. There had been room between them while he’d been leaning in to see Bucky’s hands, but now he put a good foot between their shoulders, and Bucky told himself that was perfectly fine.

 

“I can do a few things,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Like what?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve frowned at his hands for a while. Then he lifted a finger, and the hood of Bucky’s cloak flopped over his face. Bucky batted it off and it hit him on the forehead again.

 

“Hey, cut that out!” Bucky said, though he was laughing.

 

Steve smiled a little and put his finger down. “A few other things,” he said. “I can’t lift a lot and not for very long, but it’s the most obvious part of my – You said it was a gift?”

 

Bucky nodded. “It was in my day, at least.”

 

Steve shrugged. “It’s a curse now.”

 

Bucky glanced at him. “Maybe you should practice.”

 

Steve jerked his gaze up and his jaw dropped open, like Bucky had just suggested something scandalous. “Practice?” he spluttered. “No!”

 

“It’s gotta be useful!” Bucky insisted. “Think about it, you can move things with your mind, Steve!”

 

“No,” Steve said firmly. “It’s not a toy. I shouldn’t have even showed you –”

 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with having magic,” Bucky assured him. Steve clenched his hands in his lap, staring down at the already faded hem of his apron with a tight jaw. “Magic really was a gift when I was a kid.”

 

Steve shook his head slightly.

 

“Any kid who showed signs of magic was given the best education the king could offer,” Bucky told him. “Their families were provided with enough gold and land to keep them up for years. Siblings got the same schooling, then invites to any trade they wanted. Magic got you anywhere in Yorke.”

 

“Well, this isn’t Yorke anymore,” Steve hissed. “And magic is a curse.”

 

He said it with such venom that Bucky glanced down at him.

 

“What else’s got you hating your magic?” Bucky asked him.

 

“What’s it to you?” Steve sighed. He shifted until his back was to the corner of the wagon, dropping his legs on the bench next to Bucky with the tartan gown covering his boots.

 

“Well,” Bucky started, then paused, realizing he really didn’t have a reason to feel this strongly about Steve’s gift. Other than maybe he hadn’t seen a magician do good since he was a boy and the old warlock at the end of his village set off fireworks for all the children to enjoy. That had been a gift. But Steve?

 

“For one, I wouldn’t have to teach you how to throw knives,” Bucky started. “You could just magic the blade into your attacker. Or if you could lift more, you could just lift them off their feet and toss them. Or then, you could use your surroundings to defend you. Say you’re in a forest, you could make the vines come to life and tangle them up.”

 

“You mean use magic to hurt people,” Steve cut him off.

 

“To defend yourself,” Bucky insisted. “Anyway, Steve, why’re you letting the Cretans dictate what you do with your life? You don’t believe any of the shit they say about Betas –”

 

“Of course not!” Steve interrupted hotly.

 

“So why do you believe what they say about magic?” Bucky finished calmly.

 

Steve opened his mouth and didn’t answer. Bucky nodded once and cast a glance toward the sky. Nearing sunset.

 

“Think about it,” he said. Bucky turned his eyes off the road, towards the treeline. “But in the meantime, I wanna go off the road to set up camp.”

 

Steve nodded quietly. Bucky copied it, then rose and lifted a hand. He stopped right before touching Steve’s shoulder, thinking better of it, and climbed off the cart. Steve shuffled across the bench as if to follow.

 

“Nah, you stay up there,” Bucky told him. “Don’t wanna get that pretty dress dirty.”

 

Steve scowled at him while he cracked a grin.

 

“You think you’re so funny,” Steve accused.

 

“Hey, I’m hilarious,” Bucky defended himself. He pulled the reins back and unclipped them, switching them for a lead and giving the horse a tug. He clicked his tongue, jerking his head off the road. “C’mon, old girl, this way.”

 

The horse huffed peevishly and didn’t move. Bucky gave her a stern look, giving the lead a tug again. “This way,” he insisted.

 

“She’s worried her hooves will get caught in holes,” Steve announced.

 

Bucky squinted at the horse for a second, then looked up at Steve. “How on earth do you know that?”

 

Steve turned red. “She told me,” he muttered.

 

Bucky blinked at him. He looked at the horse, then at Steve. “The horse,” he said slowly. “Told you that her hooves might get caught?”

 

Steve nodded sheepishly.

 

“Well, tell her that they won’t,” Bucky said disbelievingly.

 

The horse nickered loudly. Bucky started, taking a step back, and Steve snorted.

 

“She says you’re a fool.”

 

“What the fuck!” Bucky hissed.

 

“And to watch your language,” Steve sniggered.

 

Bucky looked at Steve, at the horse, at Steve, back at the horse, and couldn’t believe his ears. “You can talk to horses?”

 

“To most animals,” Steve said. Calmly, like he was telling Bucky he could speak, say, Nordic. At Bucky’s open mouth, Steve shrugged. “You said it could be useful. There’s really no way to hurt anybody talking to animals.”

 

The horse abruptly whinnied again, and while Steve laughed, the horse butted Bucky in the chest. Bucky yelped and stumbled back, caught his foot in a hole, cried out and fell over. The horse neighed loudly and Steve guffawed from the cart.

 

“Both of you, shut the fuck up!” Bucky yelled, flat on his back on the ground. “Fuck off!”

 

The horse’s hooves approached and she nuzzled at Bucky’s head. Bucky gave her a scowl and scrambled to his feet.

 

“I guess it could harm that way,” Steve sniggered.

 

Bucky pointed a finger at him. “You, shut up and tell the horse to start walking.”

 

“Her name is Patchouli,” Steve insisted primly.

 

The horse whinnied.

 

Bucky gritted his teeth and Steve smiled at him. Bucky turned to face the horse, worked his jaw side to side, and then offered her a pained smile.

 

“Will you please start walking?” he asked.

 

“Patchouli,” Steve offered mockingly.

 

“Patchouli?” Bucky hissed through his teeth.

 

The horse tossed her head and nickered, then bumped her head into his shoulder lightly and started walking. Slowly. Bucky took the lead and tugged her away from the hole he’d stuck his foot in.

 

“This is turned to a fucking storybook,” he grumbled under his breath.

 

The horse nickered.

 

“She says to watch your language!” Steve yelled.

 

Bucky flipped him the bird over his shoulder and hissed obscenities about the kid under his breath. The horse huffed.

 

“I don’t like him either,” Steve announced. “He’s got gorgeous shoulders, but he’s very rude.”

 

Bucky jerked his head around to make a confused face at Steve, who pointed to the horse. “I’m talking to Patchouli.”

 

“About who?” he demanded.

 

“You,” Steve said with a grin. “She says you’re very mean.”

 

Bucky scowled at the horse, though his face felt flushed from Steve’s comment on his shoulders. “Serves you right for not having a name the whole time I had you.”

 

The horse chuffed and flicked her ears. Steve snorted.

 

“What’s she saying?” Bucky demanded.

 

“I’m not telling you,” Steve laughed.

 

“Fuck both of you,” Bucky declared.

 

“One of us, you cannot afford,” Steve said, and Bucky whipped around to glare at him, “the other,” Steve added with a grin, “would be bestiality.”

 

“Gods alive,” Bucky hissed under his breath. Steve just laughed at him again. Bucky loathed to admit it, but Steve’s laughter was beautiful.

 

And he loathed to admit it to himself. No way in all the nine hells would he ever admit it to _Steve._

 

(Now, whenever Bucky gets a dopey look on his face when Steve laughs, Steve shoves him off whatever seat he’s in because he thinks his laughter is dumb. Bucky usually responds by grabbing him and kissing him somewhere. Never the same place twice in a row. The purpose of this is to, further, make Steve laugh, so Bucky can insist that it’s a beautiful laugh or their children can groan and cover their eyes, whichever comes first. Either way, Steve laughs.)

 

“I could afford you,” Bucky said instead of commenting on the musical nature of Steve’s laughter.

 

Steve snorted. “Sure, Buck.”

 

Bucky shot a glare out of the corner of his eye, guiding Patch– _the horse_ around a patch of uneven dirt hidden by the tall grass. A wheel hit it and Steve had to grab the sides of the bench to stable himself, and Bucky laughed him pointedly.

 

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbled, looping an arm through the handrest of the bench.

 

Bucky turned back again, smirking.

 

“Get ‘im with your tail!” Steve called.

 

Bucky turned again, confused, in time to catch a face full of the horse’s tail. He spat and staggered away, while Steve collapsed on the bench laughing.

 

“That’s it!” Bucky called. “You can sleep in the wagon!”

 

“Aw, but ain’t you a gentleman?” Steve protested, sitting up.

 

“That was before you made my own damn horse attack me!” Bucky retorted. He spun around and gave the horse a glare. “And you! If you want any more treats from me, you’d better quit knocking me around!”

 

The horse flicked an ear. Steve giggled.

 

“I don’t want to know,” Bucky sighed. He resumed walking.

 

Once they reached the trees, Bucky found a gap wide enough for the wagon, small as it was, to pass through. It took some engineering, but he got the horse and cart far enough into the woods that it wasn’t visible from the treeline, but into a clearing big enough to set up camp.

 

“Whoa, girl,” Bucky said automatically when he wanted the horse to stop, pulling down lightly on her lead.

 

“Her name’s Patchouli,” Steve offered unhelpfully.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky answered sarcastically. “Stay put!” he added quickly when Steve made to get down.

 

“Why?” Steve whined.

 

“Because I said so,” Bucky told him. He smoothed a hand over Patchouli – _the horse’s_ mane, then started undressing her from her tackle. He got her bridle off to give her some comfort, then walked around and stuck blocks behind the wheels of the cart.

 

“Why am I waiting here?” Steve demanded.

 

“Because,” Bucky sighed. He patted the horse’s flank once and started releasing her from the wagon. Patchouli flicked her tail as he was releasing her, then started walking as soon as she was free. Bucky let her go, knowing that she was just walking towards a patch of tall grass to nibble while she waited for him to give her food. He’d had this horse for eight years, he knew she wasn’t going to wander off on him.

 

“Can I get down now?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky dropped the tackle into the cab of the wagon and walked around to Steve’s side.

 

“No,” Steve said. Bucky raised his eyebrows and held out his hands. “I do not need help getting down!” Steve insisted.

 

“Humor me,” Bucky said dryly. “You’ve only got two dresses.”

 

Steve glowered. He took Bucky’s hands. Bucky did his best not to smirk as Steve stumbled a little getting down, and then did his best not to miss the warmth of his hands when Steve stalked away and brushed himself off.

 

“When can I take this death trap off?” Steve asked as Bucky moved to the bed of the wagon.

 

“You wanna strip off right there, go ahead,” Bucky said tiredly. “Wait for me to get the tent set up.”

 

He hauled out his pack and swung it over his shoulder. He dug around in his saddlebags for a while, wondering if he would be able to set up traps with no actual doors or windows, then turned around to start dumping stuff in the middle of the clearing.

 

“Gods almighty, Steve!” Bucky yelped as he twisted and stumbled in turning around. “I didn’t mean it!”

 

“I’m not even naked!” Steve called. Something soft hit him in the back and Bucky jerked, grabbing it before it hit the ground. It was the tartan dress and the white undergown.

 

“You’re in your smallclothes!” Bucky snapped, flinging the dress into the cab of the wagon.

 

“It’s a shift!” Steve countered.

 

“That’s smallclothes!” Bucky said firmly.

 

Steve threw something else at him. Bucky dropped his saddlebags to catch it, and it proved to be the headscarf and apron.

 

“I’m not even a woman,” Steve said crossly, closer now.

 

“You’re still an Omega!” Bucky hissed. He chanced a glance to his left and sucked in a breath, looking away again.

 

Steve strode in front of him and Bucky dropped the other saddlebag to fling a hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck off!” Steve said sharply; his nails dug into Bucky’s wrist as he grabbed his hand and yanked it down. “I’ve got legs and arms, so what?”

 

Bucky pointedly looked nowhere below his chin. At least, he tried. He glanced briefly down Steve’s body, seeing miles of creamy skin exposed by the thigh-length and sleeveless slip that he’d been wearing under his clothes, and promptly turned around.

 

“Alphas,” Steve growled under his breath, stomping off.

 

Bucky, red in the face, glanced over his shoulder against his better judgment and swallowed heavily, seeing the backs of Steve’s thighs and his exposed neck.

 

Bucky busied himself with unloading the wagon and setting up camp. Steve, seeming to glory in the breeze, stood in the middle of the clearing, asking if there were ways he could help. Bucky almost told him to go find wood for a fire just so he wouldn’t have to keep seeing all that skin, but then caught sight of his bare knees and feet and thought better of it. That left Steve standing there in his slip with a heavy scowl, and Bucky confusedly aroused. It had been a while, to say the least.

 

At last, he got the tent frame out of the wagon and built. He was tying down the leather fly over the frame when Patch– _the horse_ made her way to his side and butted her muzzle against his shoulder.

 

“Gimme a second, I’ll feed you,” he replied. The horse bumped him again. “What?”

 

He looked at the horse first, and she lifted her head, like she was pointing, and he turned around.

 

The clearing was empty.

 

“Steve?” Bucky said cautiously.

 

He stood up, stepping away from the tent to look behind the wagon. He called the kid’s name again, louder, and spun around, searching the trees for him.

 

“Steve!” he yelled.

 

Bucky sucked in his breath to listen to the still of the forest. There were crickets in the distance, waking up with the setting sun. Far off, an owl.

 

A twig snapped. Bucky whipped around and ran in the direction of it, drawing and loading his hand crossbow as he ran.

 

Bucky nearly ran right into Steve. He stopped himself at the last second, Steve falling back on his ass, and Bucky grabbed a tree to steady his balance and catch his breath.

 

“You –” he heaved out, pointing at Steve, first with the crossbow and then hastily unloading it and using the bolt to point accusingly at him “– little shit!”

 

“I went looking for berries!” Steve said defensively.

 

Bucky grabbed him by the arm and yanked him from the ground to level. Steve’s eyes were wide and his face pale.

 

“You _never_ wander off without saying something,” Bucky hissed. “That is how you die. You hear?” He shook Steve by the arm and the boy nodded hastily. “Do. Not. _Wander!_ ”

 

Steve nodded again quickly. Bucky set him on his heels and pushed him back towards the clearing.

 

“I’ve got dried food,” he said wearily. “Tent’s almost put up.”

 

Patchouli whinnied nervously as they re-entered the clearing. Bucky went past her to give her a pat on the flank, then dropped back to his knees by the tent to finish tying off the fly. He kept Steve in the corner of his eye now, no longer concerned about his lack of dress. Steve stood near the wagon, hugging himself.

 

The sun had set fully by then. Bucky lifted off his knees and swung his cloak off his shoulders, walking back to the wagon. Steve was shivering slightly, and Bucky wordlessly dropped the heavy cloak onto his shoulders. Steve, just as silent, pulled it around his body.

 

“Take these,” Bucky said, putting a full crossbow and arrows in Steve’s arms. “Stay in the tent. I’m going to get firewood.”

 

“What about Patchouli?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, pulling a short-handled axe from his pack. “Give her some oats.”

 

“I meant, shouldn’t we tie her up?” Steve said.

 

Bucky turned to walk backwards and spread his arms. “You’re the witch, you ask her.”

 

He stepped out of the clearing. He glanced once over his shoulder to make sure Steve really was getting in the tent, but he wasn’t as worried now that Steve wasn’t practically naked. His skin, smooth and pale, would reflect the moonlight like a mirror and would very nearly glow to any wary eye. Bucky’s cloak, on the other hand, was a deep brown nearly black and lined with notice-me-not sigils.

 

Steve would be safe with the crossbow and the cloak. Plus, Patchouli had clearly taken a shine to him, and she’d saved Bucky’s life more than once in the eight years he’d had her.

 

He loaded up his arms with dead wood, keeping a carefully trim distance to the campsite. While he was there, Bucky took the time to look for any signs of a wary eye. The trees were unblemished, the thickets natural. There were no magical means spying on them, and short of some miraculous invention by the Cretans, that meant they were safe from onlookers.

 

Bucky made his way back. Patchouli was standing just outside the tent, munching on a pile of oats, and Steve sat in its mouth, holding the crossbow at the ready. Bucky gave him a short nod and dumped the pile of wood near the tent’s mouth, then started digging a hole with his axe.

 

“You can be helpful now,” Bucky said. “Grab the tinderbox from my pack.”

 

Steve put down the crossbow, now unloaded, and lifted from the tent’s entrance. He started to take off the cloak and Bucky shook his head.

 

“Leave it,” he said.

 

“I have my own cloak,” Steve said.

 

“It’s enchanted,” Bucky told him. Steve paused in pulling it off his shoulders. “Blocks scrying. And the Cretans will be looking for you, not me. Leave it on.”

 

Steve hesitated. Bucky kept his gaze on the fire pit he was digging, but was focused on Steve. After a second, Steve pulled it tighter around his shoulders and walked to the wagon. Bucky kept digging.

 

Steve knelt beside him and held out the tinderbox. Bucky took it with a murmured thanks and, satisfied with the pit, started building up the wood.

 

“You should get your nightclothes on,” Bucky told him without looking at him. “You’ll get that slip dirty.”

 

“I don’t have any nightclothes,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky tried not to sigh. “I’ve got a spare shirt,” he said, pointing to the pack. “You can it.”

 

“You’re already doing enough for me as it is,” Steve started, but Bucky raised an eyebrow at the wood he was stacking.

 

“It’s just a shirt,” he said. “Take it.”

 

Steve hesitated again, but he stood and walked away. Bucky arranged kindling and moss in the center of the fire, then took the tinderbox and struck the flint against the stone until sparks caught on the moss. He bent down and blew gently on the moss, coaxing the small flames to lick at the kindling, then from the kindling to the logs, and pushed back. He brushed off his hands and pushed to his feet. The tent flaps were closed, and Bucky headed for the wagon to pull out the basket of foodstuffs he’d bought at the market.

 

“Supper,” he called to the tent, dropping it near the fire.

 

The tent flap parted and Steve slipped out. Bucky glanced at him, away, and regretted offering his shirt. It hung at the same length on Steve’s lithe body, and while it covered his arms – the cuffs hung far past his fingertips –, the lacing at the neck was open and exposed not only his collarbones, but part of his chest and a great deal of shoulder where it hung loosely on him. He still wore the cloak over it, and dressed entirely in his clothes the way he was, Bucky felt a spike of genuine possessiveness over the boy.

 

Bucky ignored it. He knelt down and opened the basket, pulling out jerky and dried fruits to hand to Steve.

 

“No bread?” Steve asked.

 

“It wouldn’t keep long enough,” Bucky told him. “We can forage and hunt along the way, but it’s too late tonight.”

 

“If you had let me help you, maybe we would have gotten camp set up faster,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky gritted his teeth and choose not to mention that if Steve had left his clothes on, Bucky would have let him get the wood and build the fire himself while Bucky set up camp. Instead, he bit into a hunk of jerky and started chewing intently. He watched the fire, waiting for a log to catch fire.

 

Steve yelped and jumped backwards when Bucky reached into the fire with his ungloved left hand and pulled out a flaming branch. Bucky ignored him and walked to the edge of the camp. He pushed up his sleeve with his right hand and started drawing sigils into the dirt with the fiery end of the branch.

 

“What are you doing?” Steve called as Bucky began circling.

 

“Warding,” Bucky said over his shoulder. “Lesson one in magic, any fool can draw a ward and pray that it works.”

 

Bucky heard Steve’s footsteps and carried on drawing the same sigil over and over again.

 

“What is it?” Steve said, his voice quiet and close.

 

“Same ones on that cloak,” Bucky answered. “Blocking scrying.”

 

“Who would be scrying on us?” Steve asked as Bucky passed the tent. “The Cretans don’t use any magic.”

 

Bucky snorted and shook his head. “Kid, you got a lot to learn about the world.”

 

“The Cretans hate magic!” Steve insisted.

 

“And I’ll bet you it’s because they know that it could end this occupation,” Bucky said. “They use magic, trust me.”

 

Bucky returned to the fire to catch fire to the end of the branch again, coaxing the flames as he did. Steve watched him finish the circle, more of an oval, really, then plop back in front of the fire.

 

“You gonna pray with me?” Bucky asked, looking into the fire.

 

Steve neared and knelt beside him. Bucky took a dagger from his side and held the blade against a finger on his right hand.

 

“Gods and Goddesses of Yorke, a humble hunter asks your mercy,” Bucky recited. He said this prayer nearly every day. “Fill these sigils with power and prevent magical methods of spying within the circle they create.”

 

Bucky drew the blade over his finger and held it over the fire, squeezing it to let blood well up at the end of the cut.

 

“Accept this sacrifice, my blood, to prove my intent.”

 

The blood dripped and hit the centermost log. It hissed and bubbled away almost immediately and Bucky pulled his hand back, holding the finger upright.

 

Bucky continued to stare into the fire. Steve glanced between him and it a few times.

 

“What are we waiting for?” Steve hissed.

 

The centermost log split where Bucky’s blood had touched it and a shower of sparks sailed into the air. Steve lurched back, but Bucky watched the sparks carefully. They were blue.

 

“That,” he said, stowing his knife. “The gods accepted my prayer.”

 

“I’ve never seen anybody pray like that,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky stood up and sheathed his dagger. “Nobody teaches how to pray like that anymore.”

 

He took the hunk of jerky he’d been eating earlier and his pack and ducked into the tent, tearing off a strip with his teeth as he walked. He unrolled one of the two bedrolls and stripped off his leather jerkin, then the scale pauldrons and his bracers. Steve slipped through the mouth of the tent, and Bucky paused in unlacing his shirt.

 

“Sorry,” Steve started to say, but Bucky grabbed his fresh clothes and pushed past him.

 

Outside, he stripped off his shirt and shook it out. He rolled his shoulders, wincing, and rubbed a hand over the joining of metal and flesh on his left side. He bent in half to unlace his boots, then straightened and stripped off his tasset and trousers. He snatched up his old shirt and took a second to wipe down his body with it, then put on new stockings, trousers, and a clean shirt before donning his boots again.

 

He took his day clothes and draped them over the edge of the wagon, then Steve’s clothes from the cab and did the same. There was a creek about twenty miles west of them that he figured they could get to by sunset the next day and wash their clothes there. There was also a thicker, more wildlife-rich forest surrounding Redwater Creek. Bucky could set up a camp for Steve by the water and disappear into the woods until the full moon had passed. Bucky gathered up the loose things and loaded them back into the wagon, covering them with the quilt, then took his crossbow and a quiver of arrows from the wagon. He turned around and found Steve watching him.

 

“Get some sleep,” Bucky said. Steve didn’t move. The second bedroll, his own, lay by the fire. Bucky rolled it out there and dropped onto it. He loaded the crossbow and set it near his head.

 

“Sleep in the tent,” Steve said abruptly.

 

“No,” Bucky told him. “Sleep.”

 

“In the tent,” Steve insisted. “I won’t bite you, y’know.”

 

Bucky stared up at the stars peeking through the canopy. “Let it go,” he said, rolling onto his side. “Go to bed, kid.”

 

“‘M not a kid,” Steve grumbled. Bucky heard the tent flap fall shut, however.

 

Patchouli wandered over to him and bumped her nose against his neck. Bucky waved her off, and she walked around him to lie down in front of him with a loud huff.

 

“I bet you’re tellin’ Steve that I’m just being stubborn,” Bucky grumbled to her.

 

Patchouli swung her head to look at him and blinked slowly. She twitched an ear and looked away, shutting her eyes. Bucky exhaled heavily again and did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _chapter 4 will come out in a few hours, see you then!_


	4. THE FULL MOON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all ready?_

#  _[THE FULL MOON]_

  


Bucky woke just before dawn to Patchouli nudging him with her nose. His first reaction was to grab the crossbow, but then he registered that it was just his horse and he let go of the weapon, raising a hand to pat her muzzle. Patchouli responded by snorting in his face and Bucky rolled over with a groan. The horse bumped his back again, then let out a huff and stamped a hoof.

 

“Alright,” Bucky sighed at last, “I’m getting up, stop nagging me.”

 

The horse let out a soft nicker and stamped her hoof again as Bucky rolled to his feet. He shook his head, then cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. Patchouli butted him in the back and Bucky stumbled forward, whipping around to knock a hand under her muzzle reproachfully.

 

“Cut it out,” he said. Patchouli whinnied loudly. “Quiet!” Bucky added quickly. “You’ll wake up Steve!”

 

Patchouli flicked an ear, then shook her tail and stomped away. Bucky shook his head at her, turning away to fetch her oats.

 

The morning air was chilly and without the sun to burn off the dew, there was a light fog low on the ground that made the trees look old and eerie. Bucky stamped out the remaining coals of the fire, filled in the pit and rolled up his bedroll. He pulled out his armor from underneath the quilt in the bed of the wagon and strapped it on, finishing with his gloves. Patchouli watched him pack up, standing near the edge of the warded circle and munching on her oats. Bucky snapped a dead branch off a nearby pine tree and used the needles to erase the notice-me-not sigils surrounding the camp. He passed Patchouli and she flicked her tail at him half-heartedly, then looked at the tent. Bucky ignored her.

 

He tossed aside the branch when he was satisfied all the sigils had been destroyed, then turned and came to face the tent. He put his hands on his hips and stared at it for a second, then shook his head and parted the flaps.

 

Steve was lying on his side, a hand pillowed under his head and the other lying in front of his face. Bucky’s cloak lay draped over his small body, totally engulfing him. Bucky chose not to ruminate on that.

 

He shouldered his way into the tent and lowered himself to one knee in front of the boy. Bucky set a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.

 

Steve snorted in his sleep and his eyes jerked open. He looked around wildly, then his gaze landed on Bucky and he relaxed.

 

“‘S’it morning?” Steve said in a slurred voice.

 

“Nearly dawn,” Bucky answered. “It’s time to get back on the road.”

 

Steve sat up, nodding, then rubbed at his forehead while Bucky got off his knees and pushed his way out of the tent. He grabbed Steve’s clothes from the wagon and brought them back to him, tossing them into his lap.

 

“Get dressed,” he said shortly and vanished from the tent entrance again.

 

Bucky heard Steve up and moving around, as he whistled for the horse and started unloading the tackle from the cart. Patchouli padded over, flicking her ears, and snorted once.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, “you want sugarcubes, I’m sure.”

 

Patchouli nickered at him loudly again. From inside the tent, Bucky heard muffled laughter.

 

“Fuck off, Steve!” Bucky called out. To the wagon, he muttered: “Fuckin’ magicians.”

 

Patchouli neared and headbutted him lightly. Bucky waved her off, untangling the reins from each other. The horse huffed in his ear, then turned and stomped off, hitting him with her tail as she did.

 

Bucky wiped dirt off his bracers and carried on with what he was doing. He would have loved to blame Steve’s influence on his horse for this behavior, but Patchouli had been a petty animal long before Steve named her.

 

“Steve, tell the horse to park her ass in front of the wagon!” Bucky called.

 

Steve emerged from the tent, dressed but lacking his head covering. He was holding Bucky’s cloak, shirt, and his bedroll in his arms, the headscarf poking out from a pocket of his apron. “She can understand you just fine, y’know,” he said.

 

Bucky blinked at him, then looked at the horse. “You can?”

 

Patchouli flicked an ear and blinked back. Bucky side-stepped towards Steve. “What does that mean?”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Steve said dispassionately.

 

Bucky huffed in protest, then jerked his head between the boy and the horse, wondering who he ought to be offended at. Patchouli whinnied and shifted her weight, tossing her head like she was laughing. Steve sniggered.

 

“Both of you, quit it,” Bucky warned, waving the clip of the reins between the two of them. “Horse, cart, now.”

 

Patchouli flattened her ears and hit a hoof against the ground. Bucky pointed at the wagon, and she huffed before backing up to stand in front of the shafts.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “I’ll give you somethin’ sweet when I hook you up.”

 

Patchouli snorted once, and Steve said: “No bananas.”

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Steve. “I know she hates bananas,” he said haughtily. “She’s _my_ horse!”

 

Steve shrugged as Patchouli huffed. “She says you don’t know the difference between dried bananas and dried apricots.”

 

“I know the difference between an apricot and a banana!” Bucky retorted hotly. Patchouli snorted again and he pointed an accusing finger at her. “Shuddup or I’ll only give you dried apples.”

 

Steve giggled while Patchouli flicked her ears back and turned her head to the side to look at him. Bucky wagged the finger at her, then crossed to lift her collar over her head.

 

“I want to make it to Redwater Creek by sunset,” Bucky said as he hooked the horse up to the wagon. “It’s twenty or thirty miles west of here.”

 

“Aren’t there watchtowers between here and there?” Steve asked, stepping nearer.

 

“Kid, there are watchtowers everywhere,” Bucky told him. “That would be why you’re wearing a dress.”

 

Steve did not look amused. Bucky did not care. He clipped the reins to Patchouli’s bridle and pulled them back through the terrets to toss into the cab of the wagon. He turned and was faced with the tent.

 

“You can help take it down,” he said to Steve, walking toward it.

 

With Steve’s help, Bucky had the tent disassembled and loaded into the wagon in just a few minutes. As he was pulling the quilt over their gear, Steve’s stomach rumbled loudly.

 

Steve hastily hugged himself, his ears flushing. Bucky pulled some jerky out of the food basket and held it out to him.

 

“And put your scarf on,” he added.

 

Steve took it reluctantly, looking at it distastefully. Bucky ignored the look on his face and picked him up to put on the wagon. Steve jerked and yelped, then hit him with the jerky as soon as Bucky set him down.

 

“Quit doing that!” he demanded.

 

“When it quits bein’ amusing,” Bucky answered with a grin.

 

Patchouli whinnied. Steve turned redder and waved his jerky at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

 

“She’s _my_ horse,” Bucky said a second time with glee. Steve glared at him, then stuck his strip of jerky between his teeth to tie the scarf over his hair.

 

Bucky walked around the horse to clip a lead to her bridle and start walking her out of the clearing. He followed the same path as the night before, and as the sun lifted over the distant Eastmarch, Bucky lead the horse and cart back to the main road.

 

He unclipped the lead, ran around to climb into the cab, and snapped the reins. “Whoa, girl!”

 

Patchouli began a light trot and Bucky let the reins go loose in his hands, knowing she would move faster when she was ready. He gave a glance over his shoulder, then prodded the heavy cloak lying over Steve’s lap with a gloved hand.

 

“Put that on,” he said. “They’ll be looking for you more now.”

 

Steve shuffled around to pull the cloak over his shoulders. “It’s bad enough you got me in this hot dress,” he complained in a mutter.

 

“You’ll survive,” Bucky said.

 

“Won’t they be looking for you, too?” Steve demanded. “The White Wolf never fails to kill his victims.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m a hard fella to find,” Bucky answered. “The cloak’s magic only works on one person, besides.”

 

Steve lifted the hood over his head. Bucky chanced a glance at him, then fixed his gaze on the horizon. Steve looked practically dwarfed in Bucky’s cloak.

 

Then, Steve’s stomach rumbled. Bucky glanced back at him and Steve lifted the jerky to his mouth quickly.

 

“Did you eat?” Steve asked, his mouth full.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Better to conserve food. I’m fine for now.”

 

Steve abruptly swung his legs onto the bench beside him and ducked down. Bucky started, spitting out a: “What – Hey!” as Steve pressed his ear against his abdomen.

 

“You should eat,” Steve said firmly.

 

“I said I was fine!” Bucky answered, pushing Steve off him.

 

“You’d better eat or I’ll shove it down your throat,” Steve threatened, twisting around on his knees to reach into the back of the wagon. “And I mean it, Buck!”

 

“Oh, shove off,” Bucky said, elbowing him.

 

“Why’d you get nothin’ but jerky and dried fruit?” Steve complained. Bucky glanced at him, he was sticking a leg out in the air to keep his balance as he reached into the wagon bed.

 

“Because it keeps and fills you up,” Bucky said, looking down his leg to where his ankle stuck out of the skirt of the gown. “Get down from there!”

 

“You could’a gotten –” Steve paused to grunt and his leg shook. Bucky grabbed his ankle to stable him. “– rice! Or grits!”

 

“That requires cooking!” Bucky snapped. “Get outta there!”

 

“I almost got it!” Steve countered.

 

Bucky glanced back down the road and let out an angry hiss, spotting a caravan of soldiers under a big oak. Steve leaned a little further, kicking his leg out and knocking Bucky’s hand off his ankle, and the hem of his dress flew up to expose the top of his stocking.

 

“Steve!” Bucky hissed. “Down!”

 

“Gimme a second!” Steve snapped. He flopped forward, his thigh sticking out of the dress.

 

Bucky shot a worried look back up the road; the soldiers were gathered around a covered wagon, one of its wheels clearly broken. Two or three of them were standing up, standing around like idiots, and one pointed toward them.

 

Bucky did the first thing he could think of. He grabbed the rump of Steve’s dress and yanked him down. Steve yelped and hit the bench hard, his dress flew up over his legs and one foot landed in Bucky’s lap.

 

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Steve yelled and Bucky grabbed his chin, jerking his head to face the road.

 

“Them fools lookin’ up your skirt!” Bucky snapped.

 

“You think I care? You know how many guys look up my drawers on a daily basis?” Steve shot back, smacking Bucky’s hand off his face.

 

“Right now, nobody!” Bucky said hotly. He threw his arm over Steve’s shoulders and yanked him against his side despite his squawk of protest as they neared the soldier’s wagon. “Right now, you’re my wife and nobody needs to be lookin’ up your skirt!”

 

Steve lost his fight and slumped under Bucky’s arm. He shot an angry look out of the corner of his eye at Bucky, but drew the enchanted cloak over his lap and leaned against him. Bucky whistled at Patchouli, urging her on.

 

“Don’t look at them,” Bucky hissed to Steve. “Fix your scarf.”

 

Steve tugged his headscarf more securely over his hair. Bucky fixed his gaze on the road, praying the soldiers wouldn’t stop them.

 

“Hey, there!”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, pulling on the reins. A soldier waved them down and Bucky plastered a false smile onto his face. “Hey! What’s your trouble?”

 

“Broke a wheel going over a hole,” the soldier answered, walking up to them and putting an arm on the wagon with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Don’t suppose you folks could lend a hand?”

 

“I haven’t got a spare wheel that would fit that thing,” Bucky said, making a show of lifting a hand to shade his eyes and look at the soldier’s caravan. “I don’t know how I could help.”

 

“My lieutenant can fix the wheel, but we need more hands to lift the wagon,” the soldier said.

 

Bucky chewed on his lip, looking at the cart. Steve had his face turned away from the soldiers, which was a smart move. Bucky had never had his face connected with the identity of the White Wolf or the Winter Soldier, but he could bet that the Cretans had put out Steve’s description as soon as he didn’t turn up dead in Brooklyn.

 

“Just for a minute,” the soldier added. “You can water your horse and – I’m sorry, I don’t want to assume if this lady is your wife or –”

 

“My wife,” Bucky said quickly.

 

“Your wife,” the soldier repeated, smiling tightly now, “you can let her rest in the shade a minute.”

 

“She’s fine,” Bucky told him. “We really need to keep on, though, we’re on a tight schedule.”

 

“You can spare ten minutes, surely,” the soldier implored. “C’mon, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ve got a bit of food to trade?”

 

“No, thank you,” Bucky said, gathering the slack in the reins.

 

The soldier slammed a hand against the side of the wagon. Steve jumped, startled, and Patchouli jerked forward, whinnying loudly.

 

“It won’t be much trouble,” the soldier said calmly.

 

“I have to ask you to take your hand off my wagon,” Bucky answered, just as calm. He felt Steve’s hand creeping toward his belt, where he kept his hand crossbow and bolts; he could have kissed the boy for his initiative. “We really don’t have time to spare, my wife’s sister is dying and any second we waste is a second she may die without saying goodbye to my wife.”

 

“I could order you,” the soldier said.

 

“You could,” Bucky replied.

 

The soldier gripped the wagon, his smile gone and a hard look replacing it. Steve’s fingers closed on the grip of the small crossbow.

 

“Get down,” the soldier announced. “I want to search your wagon.”

 

“This is not necessary!” Bucky snapped.

 

“Down!” the soldier yelled.

 

Two others approached, hands at their weapons. Bucky let out a short breath, looking around, then let go of Steve to tie off the reins and climb down from the cab. Steve reached out and Bucky took his waist, not his hand, lifting him from the wagon. The two other soldiers climbed into the bed of the wagon, tossing the blanket off the side and rifling through their things. Bucky pulled Steve away, closing his arms around his small body and trying to hide his face from the soldiers' eyes.

 

“You sure got a lot of weapons, sir,” one of the two soldiers in the wagon said, lifting two daggers, then a short sword.

 

“There are bandits on these roads,” Bucky said.

 

The other raised Bucky’s crossbow and peered down the sights. “I never used a crossbow before,” he said. “Captain, would you say this is contraband?”

 

“Y’know, I reckon it would be,” the first soldier, their leader, said from beside the wagon. “Civilians aren’t allowed to carry weaponry like this.”

 

Bucky’s fingers tightened on the back of Steve’s dress and his jaw clenched. He started thinking up a plan. There were five of them, and if he moved quickly enough, he could take down the captain with his hand crossbow and the two in the cart before the two by the broken wagon could get up. The only problem was Steve.

 

Five against one was no problem for Bucky. But five against one and Bucky had to defend someone? That was going to be tough.

 

“Boss, look at this,” the second soldier in the cart called out. He lifted Bucky’s pouch of black powder, peering into it. “Looks like that stuff the Dinaeans put in fireworks.”

 

Bucky let go of Steve slowly, reaching for his hand crossbow.

 

“That’s definitely contraband,” the captain announced. He stepped around the cart, sizing Bucky up. “Now, what would you be doing with black powder, sir?”

 

“Yes,” Steve abruptly whispered.

 

Patchouli let out a loud cry and reared onto her hind legs. The captain jumped backward, but not in time to miss her front hooves striking him in the head. She bolted, trampling the captain in the process, and the two soldiers standing in the cart fell out of the wagon bed, hitting the ground in a plume of dust. Bucky drew his crossbow and shot one of them in the eye, throwing Steve away from him to draw his sword and attack the other. The fourth and fifth soldier came running as the third scrambled up from the ground and deflected Bucky’s sword with his steel bracer.

 

Bucky kicked the man’s knee and stabbed at an upward angle to get under his armor, spearing him in the side. He yanked his sword free to face the other two, and caught a sword with his blade barely in time. He grabbed the blade with his left hand and threw the man off. He ducked a swing from the fifth soldier’s sword, went to kick his leg out, and a loud, echoing _CLANG_ sent him off balance.

 

The fifth soldier slumped to the ground, eyes crossed. The fourth soldier just stood there and Bucky scrambled to his feet. One of the soldier’s shields, a heavy, banded steel heater shield branded with the fist of Cretus, hung in midair, shaking somewhat.

 

The remaining soldier stared at it. Bucky stared at it. And the shield turned and slammed into the remaining soldier’s face.

 

Bucky lowered his sword and turned around to face Steve. He had a hand held out, his face white. He jerked his hand against his chest and the shield fell to the ground with another clang.

 

“I –” Steve said. “I –”

 

Bucky calmly flipped his sword in his palm so it pointed down and impaled the slumped body of the fourth soldier between his helmet and his cuirass. 

 

“He was down!” Steve cried.

 

“Can’t leave witnesses,” Bucky answered, pulling his sword free. He walked to the fifth and stabbed him in the throat, leaving him to bleed out. He wiped his sword in the grass, then sheathed it and whistled for his horse. “You did good, kid.”

 

Steve was still pale. Bucky was already walking toward him but lunged to catch him when his eyes rolled back and he slumped. Bucky hissed a curse, dropping to a knee to pull Steve into his arms.

 

“Patchouli!” he yelled. “Here!”

 

He already heard the horse’s hooves clomping along the dirt road, but Bucky called for her again. He shifted Steve in his arms, then lightly slapped his cheek with his right hand. When Steve didn’t move, he checked the pulse in his neck. Beating, but faint. Bucky cursed again and fell onto his ass, dragging Steve more squarely into his lap.

 

“Come on, come on, come on,” he hissed, shaking Steve’s shoulder. “Open your eyes, kid, come on, look at me!”

 

Steve’s head flopped but his eyes hardly fluttered.

 

“Fuck!” Bucky yelled.

 

Patchouli slowed to a walk and then a stop, her shadow puddled at her feet. Bucky cast a glance to the sky, seeing that the sun was climbing higher, then hefted Steve into a cradle and stood up. Patchouli nickered softly as he passed her, her tail and ears flicking once each while Bucky laid Steve’s limp body in the back of the wagon and settled him amongst the baskets and bags. Bucky jumped out of the wagon bed, running to grab the things that had fallen out with the soldiers when Patchouli bolted and the blanket that the idiots had cast aside, then climbed back into the wagon bed and unrolled one of the bedrolls.

 

Bucky shifted Steve’s body onto the bedroll, then used the quilt to cushion his head. He grabbed the enchanted cloak from the cab, going to drape it over his body, and hesitated. He checked the sky again, then muttered another curse, looking back at Steve. It was already getting hot, and the last thing Steve needed was to overheat.

 

Bucky started unlacing the dress. He didn’t let his brain put in any emotional commentary while he undressed Steve, taking him down to the shift again, and he didn’t let his eyes wander either. He draped the cloak over him and took the quilt away again, climbing out. He flung it out over the wagon bed so it covered the whole thing and draped over the end, then dug tacks out of his pack and pinned down the edges. There was a foot or two exposed near the cab, so Bucky could look back and keep an eye on Steve and let air in. When he was satisfied there was shade and Steve was secure, Bucky climbed into the cab and took up Patchouli’s reins.

 

“Go!” he called.

 

Patchouli curved into the grass to turn the wagon as Bucky pulled on her reins. He glanced over his shoulder, then transferred the reins into his left hand and reached back into the wagon bed under the quilt to fist a hand in the shoulder of Steve’s shift.

 

“Wake up,” he hissed, “wake up, Steve!”

 

Bucky detected no movement. He cursed again.

 

There was little he could do for Steve; he could dress wounds as well as the next soldier, but he was no medic. He had no clue how to treat a fainting spell, other than what he was already doing. They had to keep moving and get away from the scene faster than Bucky wanted to make his horse go.

 

Bucky reluctantly pulled the whip from the wagon and shook it out. He cracked it in the air once, yelling, and Patchouli neighed loudly before picking up speed.

 

“Not for long!” Bucky called. He cracked the whip again. “On, girl, on!”

 

Patchouli whinnied and began a full gallop. Bucky held the reins firmly and the whip at his side, knowing she could only gallop for so long and especially with the weight of the wagon. He sent a glance over his shoulder, to the rapidly disappearing sight of the soldiers’ bodies, and cracked his whip a third time to motivate Patchouli. The road curved ahead and Bucky gripped the reins with both hands, pulling slightly to slow her to a canter, then raised the whip and cracked it as they cleared the bend.

 

After about ten minutes, Patchouli began to slow. Bucky let her, knowing they had covered plenty of ground. He pulled back on the reins slowly, saying, “Whoa, girl, whoa.”

 

Patchouli huffed and slowed to a walk. Bucky pulled back again and she stopped entirely.

 

“That’s it,” Bucky said, listening to her hard breathing. He hopped out of the wagon and took a waterskin from his side, walking over to her and stripping off his left glove. He poured a bit of water into his cupped palm and Patchouli ducked her muzzle to drink from his hand. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, patting her flank with his right hand. He re-filled his palm and she lapped it up, licking his hand clean and smacking her lips. “I’ll get you more,” he said, putting the cap back on his waterskin and hanging it from his belt.

 

Bucky patted her side once more, then jogged around to the wagon, hopping up into the cab. He dug around in the exposed front of the wagon, pulling out a wide pan and a towel, then jumped down and crossed back to the horse. He poured water into the pan for her, then got the towel damp and started to wipe her down. Patchouli flicked her ears as she lowered her head. Bucky guessed it was a thanks, but when he darted away after wiping down her legs and flanks and she jerked her head up to bray angrily.

 

“You hush!” Bucky called over his shoulder, climbing into the wagon’s cab. He ducked his head to look under the blanket, reaching for Steve’s shoulder. “Steve? You gonna wake up any time soon?”

 

Steve didn’t stir. Bucky reached to check his pulse again, then grabbed his waterskin and started untacking the quilt. He climbed into the bed of the wagon, kneeling next to Steve, and lifted the boy up to lay his head on his knee. Bucky lifted his waterskin again and unscrewed the cap, then pulled Steve’s mouth open and poured a little into his mouth. He held the waterskin in his left hand and stroked Steve’s esophagus to make him swallow.

 

Steve coughed. Bucky almost dropped the waterskin but caught it at the last second.

 

“Steve?” he questioned.

 

Steve groaned and curved away from Bucky; Bucky caught his shoulder to keep him from rolling off his knee. “Steve!” he repeated. “Open your eyes!”

 

Steve lifted a hand, his wrist limp, and waved vaguely in Bucky’s direction. Bucky shook him gently.

 

“Look at me!”

 

“Fu’ off,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Open your eyes,” Bucky growled.

 

Steve shuddered in his arms and rolled into him instead of away. He reached vaguely up, but still didn’t open his eyes.

 

“Do it or I’ll do it for you,” Bucky snapped.

 

Steve groaned again and cracked one eye. Bucky exhaled heavily.

 

“Wha’ happened?” Steve whispered, closing his eye again.

 

Bucky jerked Steve up into a sitting position, bracing him with an arm and a leg. “Open your eyes and keep ‘em open, kid.”

 

“Bossy,” Steve grumbled, but opened his eyes. He blinked against the light and lifted a hand to shade his eyes, but only for a second before it fell against the wagon bed. He tried to sit up on his own, too, but trembled and collapsed against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

His body was warm, flushed but not fevered. Bucky was just cold.

 

“You passed out,” Bucky told him. He ignored the warmth passing from where Steve was touching him into his body, knowing he didn’t deserve the heat. “You knocked those guys out and then collapsed.”

 

“Oh,” Steve muttered. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

 

“You faint like that often?” Bucky demanded. Steve shook his head, then shuddered and hugged himself. “C’mon, people don’t just pass out for no reason.”

 

“Used m’self up,” Steve muttered.

 

“What?”

 

Steve shrugged a pale shoulder, exhaling through his mouth. His breath was even warmer than his body. Bucky ignored the heat.

 

“Magic,” Steve was saying. “Never used so much at once. Burned myself up.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said. Steve nodded absently. Bucky looked over his shoulder, seeing the coast clear, and shifted Steve to rest between his outstretched leg and his bent knee, braced against his body. “You’ll have to strengthen your magic then,” he said, lifting the waterskin again.

 

“‘M never doing that again,” Steve said. Bucky paused.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I didn’ wanna kill ‘em,” Steve said. He wasn’t meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I thought… If we could just get away…”

 

“That’s not how this works, kid,” Bucky told him gently. “You made it quick, at least. Painless.”

 

Steve shook his head, covering his mouth. “I never seen anybody die like that before,” he hissed from under his fingers. “‘M gonna be sick.”

 

Bucky hastily lifted Steve up and positioned him closer to the edge of the wagon. “Be sick over the side, then.”

 

“Why did we have to kill them?” Steve demanded. “Why’d we have to fight at all?”

 

“You told Patchouli to attack the captain,” Bucky said.

 

“She said you was gearin’ up to fight ‘em!”

 

“Because they were gonna take my crossbow!” Bucky defended himself. “Those things are hard enough to get as it is!”

 

Steve shook his head, still covering his mouth. Bucky reached for his waterskin, then grabbed Steve’s headscarf and poured a little water onto it. He dabbed at Steve’s forehead with it, trying to calm him down.

 

“They would have just gone back to their higher-ups and told them they’d found you,” Bucky said. “Plus, that you had used magic right in front of them.”

 

“I know,” Steve said under his breath. “They’d hunt me down and hang me.”

 

Bucky didn’t answer that. He didn’t realize the Cretans hung magic users.

 

“They hung my dam,” Steve whispered then. “Because she saved me from drowning with magic.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said gently.

 

Steve didn’t answer. He slowly unclamped his hand from over his mouth and reached for the waterskin, which Bucky held for him. He drank slowly, then slumped against Bucky’s shoulder again.

 

“You can stay back here in the shade,” Bucky told him. “We gotta get moving again.”

 

Steve nodded and Bucky shifted his arms to lift Steve onto his lap. He shuffled until he could lay Steve back on the bedroll, then pulled the quilt back and pinned it in place again. He climbed back into the cab, then down and walked around to take Patchouli’s water pan. He pulled some barley from his belt and let her eat it out of his left hand, then took the pan and got back into the cab of the wagon.

 

Bucky picked up the reins but not the whip and whistled to Patchouli. She began a walk, then a quick trot and Bucky glanced over his shoulder to check on Steve. He had pulled the cloak over his body and was laying on his side, curved with his back to Bucky. Bucky looked away.

 

“I had to undress you,” Bucky said, still looking at the road. “I was worried you’d overheat, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Steve said weakly.

 

“Drink the water,” Bucky called over his shoulder. “And eat something.”

 

“Thought we had to conserve food,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky guessed that Steve assumed he wouldn’t hear him if he muttered it so quietly.

 

“Forget what I said,” Bucky said. He heard Steve cough and glanced back, seeing him pounding his chest and holding the waterskin in the other hand. “My hearing’s enhanced, kid. I could hear you mouthing something.”

 

Steve exhaled a barely audible: _“Fuck.”_

 

“Like that,” Bucky said, looking away. “Eat and drink, kid. Food’s for you, anyway.”

 

He heard Steve rummaging for the food baskets, then stop.

 

“What’d’you mean, the food’s for me?”

 

“I mean I bought it for you,” Bucky said. “I don’t eat much.”

 

“Bullshit,” Steve announced. Bucky cracked a smile and shook his head. “You’re massive, you’ve got to have a high metabolism.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t have to eat much.”

 

Bucky heard Steve shifting, then caught sight of him sticking his head out of the corner of his eye and turned. “Hey, get under there,” he said.  “You’re naked –”

 

“Whatever,” Steve said, waving a hand, “do you really not have to eat a lot?”

 

“Next you’re going to tell me you can read minds,” Bucky laughed, looking away. “No, I don’t have to eat often.”

 

Steve was silent. Bucky, paranoid, whipped around. “Can you –”

 

“No, I can’t read minds!” Steve interrupted. “Are you kidding me? I can do three things!”

 

“What’s the third thing?” Bucky demanded, affronted that Steve hadn’t told him it already.

 

“Never mind,” Steve said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Believe what?” Bucky asked, looking back at the road.

 

“That you don’t have to eat. When was the last time you ate, other than last night?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Day or so. Maybe three.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve cried.

 

“Steve!” Bucky mocked. “Calm down, it doesn’t matter.”

 

Steve hit him on the shoulder, but the blow was still weak. Then a strip of jerky was shoved into his face.

 

“I was threatening to choke you with some of this earlier,” Steve said. “I still mean it.”

 

Bucky waved him off. “Eat it yourself.”

 

“I won’t eat if you don’t eat,” Steve said.

 

Bucky laughed, not believing him. “You’re gonna get real hungry.”

 

“I’m used to hunger,” Steve told him. Bucky glanced back and saw him putting the jerky back in the basket of food. “How often do you normally eat?”

 

Bucky didn’t answer him. Steve turned back and Bucky looked away, facing the road again. Steve poked him.

 

“Get back under the quilt,” Bucky said. “Before somebody sees you.”

 

“I’m not a woman, Buck,” Steve answered heatedly.

 

“You’re still an Omega,” Bucky snapped. “And you’re pretty much naked, forget your hair. Either put some clothes on or get under the quilt.”

 

Steve huffed, then vanished. Bucky lifted some of the slack in the reins and whistled at Patchouli, pulling to get her to follow a curve in the road.

 

Steve popped up again, now wearing the sleeveless tartan gown over his shift. “There,” he said, putting his elbows on the back of the cab. “I’m dressed.”

 

“That does not count,” Bucky said.

 

“I’ll get dressed if you eat something,” Steve countered.

 

“Gods save me,” Bucky whispered. Then shut up.

 

Steve prodded him in the shoulder. “Buck.”

 

Bucky ignored him.

 

“Buck, c’mon, you gotta eat.”

 

“I ate last night,” Bucky said.

 

“How often do you eat at all?”

 

“When I can’t function,” Bucky told him. “You’re back there to rest, get under the quilt or get dressed and sit up here.”

 

“You can’t boss me around,” Steve retorted.

 

“Can, too, wife of mine,” Bucky said sarcastically. “Seriously, Steve. You’ll just attract attention like that.”

 

Steve huffed angrily. Bucky heard him clambering back under the quilt and settled back on the bench, satisfied.

 

“Y’know, if we really _were_ married,” Steve called – Bucky’s mouth went dry – “you still wouldn’t be allowed to boss me around.”

 

“Good thing we never getting married,” Bucky sighed.

 

“Never say never, Buck,” Steve called.

 

Bucky’s eyes widened and he glanced over his shoulder once. Steve snorted at him.

 

“Always say never,” Bucky said, feeling ruffled.

 

“Aw, don’t you like me?” Steve asked, clambering back out of the shade to lean over the back of the cab. Bucky glanced at him, his face hot, and Steve batted his eyelashes. “I’d make a great Omega for you, Buck.”

 

“No offense,” Bucky said quickly, “but I’d make an awful Alpha.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said slowly. He reached out and squeezed Bucky’s upper arm; Bucky jerked in his seat. “You’d make a great bed partner.”

 

“Get back under the quilt,” Bucky snapped.

 

“Aw, are you blushing?” Steve said in a laugh. He reached up and touched Bucky’s cheek, and even flushed as he was, his hands were warm. “I’d go easy on you, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

 

“I wouldn’t need you to go easy,” Bucky spluttered. “Not that – Get back under the quilt!”

 

“Don’t be shy, Buck,” Steve purred, dropping an elbow over the bench and propping his chin up on his folded hands. “I could make your first time real sweet, I won’t even charge you for it.”

 

“I’m not a virgin!” Bucky said harshly, highly affronted. Steve laughed at him. “Hey, fuck off, I ain’t a virgin!”

 

“But you blush like one,” Steve said, touching his cheek again. Bucky jerked away from him. “I know a virgin when I see one, Bucky.”

 

“It’s been a while, that’s all!” Bucky shot back.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said disbelievingly, grinning at him. “D'ya know, I love a challenge.”

 

“What does that mean?” Bucky asked worriedly.

 

Steve’s smile shifted and he leaned a little closer. “I still won’t charge you for one time.”

 

Bucky’s face flashed hot again and he pushed Steve away. “Get back under the shade.”

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands and laced their fingers together; Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “You want me, I can tell,” he said.

 

Bucky tugged his hand away from Steve. “You said you couldn’t read minds,” he said coldly.

 

Steve slumped a little. “No,” he said, all playfulness gone from his voice. “I can read people, though, there’s no magic in that.”

 

Bucky didn’t look at him anymore. “You don’t want to read me,” he said.

 

Bucky kept his gaze fixed on the horizon and Steve went silent. The only sound was the wildlife around them, Patchouli’s hooves and mutterings as she kept up a light canter, the light squeaking of the wheels.

 

“Is it because of what you did as the Winter Soldier?”

 

Bucky nearly jumped in his seat when Steve spoke again. He’d gotten used to the quiet and the abrupt noise startled him.

 

“What?” he said, trying to calm himself.

 

Steve sat up again, leaning an elbow on the cab and resting his cheek on his arm. “You keep saying that I don’t want to know you. Is it because of what you did as the Soldier?”

 

Bucky tightened his jaw. “Partly,” he said.

 

“You weren’t in control of what you were doing,” Steve told him.

 

“I said it was part of it,” Bucky snapped.

 

“How can you know I don’t want any part of it?” Steve demanded. “Forget being lovers, maybe I wanna be your friend.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Bucky insisted.

 

“If I’m not a monster like you say, then you’re not, either,” Steve said.

 

Bucky shut his eyes and blew out his breath, then held it so his heart would slow down. “Let it go, Steve,” he said once it was beating on a careful rate again.

 

“How can you insist that my magic is a gift but refuse to believe that your skills are a gift, too?” Steve asked.

 

“I’m not talking about any skills!” Bucky snapped again.

 

“But –”

 

“Let it go!” Bucky shouted.

 

Patchouli faltered in her canter for a moment. Bucky didn’t look at him, but Steve slipped off the wall and crawled under the quilt. Bucky, feeling the urge to apologize for yelling, held his tongue. The sooner Steve detested him, the better.

 

More than likely, by morning Steve would be counting the days until they arrived at the West Mountains.

 

Near noon, Bucky stopped the horse to give her more oats and water, and while he stood by Patchouli’s shoulder combing out her mane and tail with his fingers, Steve remained under the shade of the quilt. Bucky took the pans away from Patchouli when she was done and got back in the wagon, whistling for her to get going again. He checked his map and the sky, whistled for Patchouli to speed up and sat hunched in the cab of the wagon.

 

A few times, someone passed them on the road. Another wagon with two adults and children in the back crowded them on the road going the other direction, and the woman eyed the blanket tacked over the back of Bucky’s cart suspiciously. A pair of men on horseback passed, they nodded in greeting and frowned at the blanket. A single woman in ranger’s clothes passed, and she was setting a hand on her sword even before she saw the quilt. Bucky ignored them. He was just grateful they saw no more Cretan soldiers.

 

He kept checking his map, knowing that they were nearing Redwater Creek, while the sun sank lower over the western sky. Bucky glanced over his shoulder and thankfully couldn’t see the moon yet. Patchouli was getting tired, he knew, but he also knew she could make it the last mile or so until the creek. She was a tough old girl, she could take anything.

 

Steve remained under the quilt. Bucky didn’t blame him.

 

The sun was nearly set by the time Bucky heard the distant hum of running water. He whistled to Patchouli and steered her off the road, across a beaten path heading to the water’s edge. The first good place to camp he saw, Bucky pulled on the reins and called for her to slow, then jumped down and started untacking the blanket.

 

“We gotta move fast,” Bucky said while Steve sat up and blinked. “We don’t got much time before moonrise.”

 

“What happens at moonrise?” Steve mumbled as Bucky pulled the final tack.

 

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Bucky said. “I’ll get the tent set up, you go find firewood and get a fire started so I can lay down the wards. I’ll leave as soon as that’s done.”

 

“Wait, hold on –”

 

“Help me get this unloaded,” Bucky told him, grabbing the frame of the tent.

 

“Why do you have to –”

 

“Come on, Steve, let’s go!”

 

“Will you shut up  and let me finish!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky glanced at him, but started setting up the tent frame. “What?”

 

Steve jumped down from the wagon, his hands on his hips. “Why do you have to leave?”

 

Bucky paused to look at him. He looked at Steve like he was stupid, which, right then, he kinda was. “It’s a full moon!” Bucky said incredulously. “Why do you think?”

 

“You’re going to turn into a wolf,” Steve said with a shrug. “Wolves aren’t difficult to speak to, what’s the big deal?”

 

Bucky blinked at him. He hadn’t… He honestly hadn’t thought of that.

 

“It’s too dangerous,” Bucky said anyway. He went back to putting up the tent frame.

 

“Werewolves aren’t bloodthirsty monsters,” Steve said. “That’s just the stories. You’re still a person in there.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “Start making a fire.”

 

“I don’t know how,” Steve countered.

 

“Then start getting wood!” Bucky snapped at him. “I’m going to cross the river as soon as I set up wards for the night.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him and stalked off. Bucky started tying down the leathers of the tent, shaking his head again.

 

It was too risky. As much as Bucky wanted to be able to stay with Steve, in the warmth and where he could keep the kid safe, the wolf was a hungry beast, and Bucky had no choice but to feed it.

 

Bucky got the tent built and started unloading the wagon while Steve was gone. He took the time to give Patchouli food and water, wiped her down properly with a towel and found her comb so he could tell Steve to brush out her tail. He kept a wary eye on the sky, watching it darken.

 

Steve showed up after twenty minutes, his arms laden with wood. Bucky finished digging the fire pit and waved him over, taking the wood from him when he approached.

 

“Go get some of that grass,” Bucky told him, gesturing to the meadow. He dropped to a knee and started building up the wood. Steve did, and Bucky lined the center of the pyre with it to help the wood catch. He struck his flint until the grass caught, blew on it, and sat back to let the flames grow.

 

Steve dropped down beside him. “What happens when you turn?”

 

“I become a wolf,” Bucky said.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I mean, what happens in your head? Are you a wolf there, too, or not?”

 

Bucky stared into the growing fire. “Not really.”

 

“So why is it too dangerous?”

  
  
Bucky shook his head, exhaling. “Not tonight, Steve. You can campaign to make me feel like a better person again in the morning, but tonight I’m not willing to risk hurting you.”

 

“But I could remind you not to,” Steve said.

 

Bucky pulled off his gloves. “Let it go.”

 

Steve went quiet. Bucky lifted the first branch to properly blaze and started drawing sigils. Patchouli didn’t flinch as he passed her with the torch, simply stepped closer to the fire. Bucky went around the wagon as well, writing more than just notice-me-not sigils.

 

“These will ward off enemies,” Bucky said over his shoulder to Steve. “Anybody who wants to hurt those inside the ward will get lost trying to find it.”

 

“Will you get lost?” Steve asked.

 

“If I mean you harm,” Bucky said shortly.

 

Steve didn’t reply to that. Bucky completed the circle and dropped back onto his ass in front of the fire, putting the branch in the flames and drawing a knife. The cut he’d made the night before was healed over completely already.

 

“Gods and goddesses, hear a humble hunter’s prayer,” Bucky muttered quickly. “I ask your mercy that you might fill the sigils warding this camp with your power and protect its occupants from harm and from prying eyes. Let the ward not be broken until the sigils are destroyed. Accept this sacrifice to prove my intent.”

 

Bucky cut up open his finger and let the blood drip into the fire. He waited with bated breath, until a log split and blue sparks flew up. He sheathed his dagger, then started shucking his armor.

 

“Don’t let the sigils be disturbed,” he said to Steve, dropping weapons onto the ground. “You can cross it, but it’s safest in the circle.”

 

Steve nodded and Bucky gave him his sword and hand crossbow with its bolts. “The big one’s in the tent with all my arrows. Anybody comes near that isn’t me –”

 

“Shoot,” Steve interrupted, looking at the fire.

 

“To kill,” Bucky told him. Steve didn’t answer. Bucky stepped away to untie his jerkin, then remove his belt and tasset. “Even animals.”

 

“What do you look like turned, then?” Steve demanded. “Because I’m not killing you.”

 

“If I come for you turned,” Bucky snapped, “you’d better defend yourself.”

 

“And I will!” Steve retorted, jumping to his feet. “I’ll tell you to remember that you’re trying to save me!”

 

Bucky gritted his teeth and shook his head, pulling off his pauldrons. “Hand me my pack,” he said.

 

Steve put down the sword and crossbow to hand him his bag. Bucky dug around in it, then pulled out a loose pair of pants and dropped them onto the wagon’s edge.

 

“I have to change,” Bucky said.

 

“Fine,” Steve muttered, turning away. Bucky waited until he was in the tent to start tugging off his boots.

 

He stripped down to his skin and tugged on the ratty pants. He had a spare shirt, except… He’d given it to  Steve, for him to sleep in. It left him barefooted and bare-chested, his mangled right arm and his silver left on full display. He balled up his clothes and tossed them into the wagon, then took a long dirk from his arsenal and strapped it to his back.

 

“Steve?” he called, though reluctant.

 

Steve slipped out of the tent. Bucky tried not to feel hot in the face as his gaze lingered on Bucky’s torso.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Bucky said.

 

Steve nodded once. Bucky left the circle, stepping over the sigils with care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'll be back tomorrow wth the next one. gimme comments, y'all know i love comments. chaos's next piece of art is coming up, too! see you tomorrow!_


	5. THE RAVEN CROWS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _action! magic! intrigue!_

#  _[THE RAVEN CROWS]_

  


The branches in the pit Bucky had dug crackled as the fire burned on. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. Somewhere, an owl was waking. Steve sat in the entrance of the tent, his hands and feet stuck out to absorb the warmth, brooding. Patchouli stood near the edge of the campsite, just inside the wards Bucky had drawn maybe an hour ago. She was just standing there, looking across the river with her ears perked and her body taut. She’d been standing there since Bucky vanished into the opposite treeline.

 

“He’s not coming back,” Steve announced.

 

Patchouli lashed her tail once. Steve pursed his lips, huffing out a breath, and Patchouli turned her head around with a snort to blink at him.

 

“Yes, I _know_ I could have helped him,” Steve snapped, “you’ve said that three or four times since he left.”   


Patchouli huffed and turned back to face the woods. Steve glared into the fire.

 

“Fucking short memories of horses,” he grumbled to himself. “Awful conversationalists.”

 

Patchouli whipped her head around and brayed haughtily, baring her teeth and flattening her ears.

 

“Well, you are!” Steve insisted. “Anything more than ten minutes in the past –,” he waved a hand “– _fwip!_ , it’s gone.”

 

Patchouli snorted at him, flicking an ear.

 

“You eat the same thing for breakfast every morning, that doesn’t count,” Steve told her.

 

Patchouli huffed and turned back to face the forest.

 

“No, we’re not going after him,” Steve said, sighing. “He wants to be miserable, let him.”

 

Patchouli flicked her tail again and finally turned away from the forest. She clomped over to where Steve was curled up in front of the fire and folded her legs to lay down, sending up dust as her heavy body hit the ground. She turned her head towards him and blinked slowly, then looked away and closed her eyes.

 

“I don’t want to sleep,” Steve murmured.

 

Patchouli let out her breath hard.

 

“No, I don’t want to,” Steve told her, “I’m not tired.”

 

Patchouli flicked an ear twice, and Steve rolled his eyes back.

 

“Do you get this naggy with Bucky?” Steve asked.

 

Patchouli snorted and Steve cracked a smile, shaking his head.

 

“I guess you would if he could understand,” he said gently. He yawned, covering it with a hand, then shook himself to wake himself. Patchouli lay her head on the ground and snorted, then lifted it and blinked at him.

 

“Fuck off,” Steve mumbled, then yawned again. “I don’t want to sleep.”

 

Patchouli blinked at him again, gently asking why. Steve just shrugged a shoulder.

 

The sky grew darker and the air colder. Steve pulled Bucky’s cloak around him tighter, tucking his legs under it and hiding his hands in its folds. He’d already taken off his traveling clothes, put on the shirt Bucky had given him instead. Summer was coming to a rapid end and the nights were getting colder by the minute.

 

A branch split in the fire. Somewhere across the river, a raven cawed and Steve went very still.

 

“Ill omens,” he murmured to Patchouli. The horse’s ears were perked as she stared across the river. Steve looked around slowly, a hand falling to the crossbow lying by his side.

 

The road above them was deserted, the river was quiet. A gust of wind slipped down the ravine and tousled his hair, and Steve pulled the hood of his cloak up. The raven called out again and Patchouli lashed her tail, looking at him.

 

“I can’t tell what it’s saying,” Steve answered her, gaze locked on the fire once again. “It’s too far away.”

 

Patchouli flattened her ears.

 

“No,” Steve agreed quietly. “I doubt it’s anything good.”

 

Patchouli stood up. Steve didn’t look away from the flames as she began to pace the circumference of the camp, lashing her tail and looking around wildly. Steve leaned in closer to the fire.

 

His mother had once taught him how to scry, using flames, earth, wind or water. He’d taken to the flames, but it had been a very long time since he had considered trying it. But with the full moon above and the wind humming and the raven crying in the woods, Steve was frightened enough to try.

 

It didn’t escape him that he’d heard crows the night before and it hadn’t left him uneasy. The absence of his guardian had left him wary to begin with.

 

Steve let his hands rest flat on the earth as he leaned into the flames. The heat flushed over his arms and torso, the contrast of the wind on his back making him shiver anyway. His face was uncomfortably warm but he didn’t look away.

 

The flame spoke an old tongue. Steve didn’t know it as well, so he watched the sparks. There was no clear picture in the faint scattering of sparks now, but the branches were breaking.

 

Like it had been a very long time since he had scryed, it had been a very long time since he had prayed. The Cretans had outlawed the old gods of both Yorke and the Nordic holds, calling them savage and their mixed pantheon barbaric, and replaced them with their own. Matrons and patrons, a host of holy men they called saints instead of gods that spoke of the honor in death and pride being the fatal sin of man. Bucky was the first person Steve had seen praying to the old gods, to Odin and the Dagba and the mothers of the land, since his dam died.

 

“Danu and Frigga, mothers of the earth and all that walks its lands,” Steve began in a murmur, just barely more than a breath. “Lay your grace on me for I hear the call of the raven and the howl of the wind and I am alone and afraid.”

 

Patchouli whinnied and danced closer to the fire, bobbing her head.

 

“Show me in the sparks of these flames those that would do your child harm,” Steve kept praying while Patchouli encouraged him. “Show me – Is Bucky safe? Show me my guardian.”

 

Steve fisted a hand in front of his mouth as the fire remained unchanged. The sparks turned blue when the gods answered Bucky’s prayers. He waited with bated breath. It had been a very long time since he had prayed to the old gods. He had renounced them after the Cretans hung his mother.

 

The fire remained unchanged.

 

“Please,” Steve whispered. “I don’t know what else to do.”

 

No log or branch split, but as Steve watched the sparks, he saw that they weren’t the orange they ought to have been. They had turned red.

 

Steve lurched forward, feeling the heat on his face again. “What would you have me do?” he asked hastily. “Tell me how I can earn your favor again.”

 

At last, a branch split and a shower of sparks flew into the air. Steve sat up, Patchouli brayed, and the red sparks formed a familiar rune.

 

“You want me to use magic again?” Steve mumbled.

 

The sparks dissipated into the night, fading back to orange.

 

“But –”

 

He broke off as the raven cried again. His gaze drifted to the woods, then back to the road and he pulled the crossbow at his side into his lap.

 

“Okay,” Steve exhaled. “I understand.”

 

The sparks rising from the fire turned blue for a moment. Steve pulled the cloak around his body more securely, then took a deep breath and pushed one hand out.

 

The flames danced higher, the sparks a bright blue. Steve stretched out his hand, biting his lip as his fingers trembled. Patchouli nickered and stepped back nervously, and Steve turned his hand palm-up before the fire.

 

The flames soared. Heat basked the campsite as light was flung to the far corners of the warded circle, casting off shadows and damp cold. Steve felt the fire’s life in his fingertips and he concentrated. Flames appeared between his fingers, not quite touching his skin but close enough that it should have burned. It didn’t.

 

Steve let the fire puddle in his palm and brought it closer to his body. He cupped the flames and looked down into them, at their twisting tongues, then held them up to eye-level.

 

“Show me Bucky,” Steve said.

 

The flames twisted into the shape of a wolf, mid-stride. For a second, the wolf in his palm was still, then it burst into life, running across uneven ground, leaping fallen branches and thickets.

 

“Is he safe?”

 

The wolf came to a pause and circled itself, then curled up on the ground and tucked its nose under its tail. Steve let out his breath.

 

“What about me?” Steve asked. “Am I safe?”

 

The shape of the wolf became loose flame again. A tree formed, then its branches twisted to reveal the raven he’d been hearing. Its beak opened, and far off, Steve heard it cry once more.

 

With the raven in flames in his palm, Steve understood it.

 

 _Be wary,_ it said. The raven cawed once more, amplified by the scrying spell, and Steve understood its cry again. _Sleep with one eye open._

 

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all,” Steve murmured. “Are there people coming for me?”

 

The flames lost their shape, then re-formed. A mighty fist appeared and Steve lost some shape to his shoulders.

 

“I know the Cretans are looking for me,” he said. “Why me? I’m not skilled or talented, I can only do a few things and not very well. I’m just a poor kid who got stuck working in a brothel, I’m no one special.”

 

The flames reformed and Steve guessed the thin figure was his own. The figure spread its hands and flames appeared in its palms. Then others appeared, backing him up, until the fist of Cretus appeared and smashed those standing behind him.

 

The raven appeared again. It cried and Steve dropped the fire in his hands, its body winking out as he scrambled away from the fire.

 

“I’m the last one?” Steve gasped. “The last witch in Yorke?”

 

The sparks turned blue.

 

Patchouli stepped around the fire and nosed at his hair. Steve reached up and patted her muzzle absently; she huffed in a way Steve was sure she thought was comforting but made the cloak feel damp.

 

“I’m the last witch in Yorke,” Steve repeated, numb. “The Cretans wiped us all out.”

 

Patchouli toed the ground and bumped her nose against his ear gently.

 

“I can’t go to sleep,” Steve said. He grabbed the crossbow and held it tightly in his hands. “They might come while I’m asleep.”

 

Patchouli nickered and Steve waved her off. “No, we can’t go get Bucky! We’d have to leave the circle and he’d be so pissed – I just won’t sleep.”

 

It was close to midnight and Steve was exhausted, but he kept his eyes open. The gods had told him to use magic again, but he knew if he tried practicing that night, he’d just pass out again. He kept the crossbow loaded and hardly blinked.

 

The first hour of the new morning was eerie. He counted time from the moon’s casting shadows on the willow trees near the riverbank. The raven, its warning said and heard, had gone quiet and been replaced by owls. Steve kept listening for a wolf and never heard one. The crickets went silent and only the wind moved the tall grass. The flames started dying out by the second hour and without even thinking about it, Steve lifted his fingers and new life was breathed into the fire. By the third, there was nothing but coals left, and still, the flames danced high enough to warm his face. Patchouli came to rest by his side, finally succumbing to sleep, and Steve remained awake.

 

At the midpoint of the fourth hour, Steve was nearing his exhaustion point.

 

The raven cried once more.

 

Steve leapt to his feet. The cloak fluttered off his shoulders to the ground. The branches of the willow trees swayed in a non-existent wind. Steve lifted the crossbow, aiming it.

 

“Who goes there?”

 

The willow branches swayed, until they parted entirely. Steve dropped the crossbow. It would not be helpful.

 

Three water elementals, swirling liquid in the form of women, came up from the river bank. Steve shook Patchouli and she jerked away, swinging her head around, only to spot the elementals and slip back into sleep. Steve cursed horses’ poor eyesight, then felt the prickle of magic on the edge of his mind. His limbs grew weary. Sleep called to him.

 

“Get out of my head!” Steve yelled, leaping back to his feet.

 

“Come with me, son of Sarah,” the three elementals said in unison. “I won’t harm you.”

 

Someone was controlling the river; the three figures of water weren’t manifestations of Redwater’s nymph. Steve shook the exhaustion from his bones, then lunged for Bucky’s weapons. Something there was pure iron, there had to be; he tossed aside daggers and knives, looking for the longsword, even as the elementals neared.

 

“You can’t come near me!” he yelled, though he doubted the wards would hold out water. “You can’t touch me!”

 

“Come with me, son of Sarah,” the elementals repeated. “I won’t harm you.”

 

Steve tugged the longsword from its sheath and brandished it. The elementals crossed the warded barrier.

 

“Stay back!” Steve warned, slashing the sword through the air. “I’ve got holy iron!”

 

“Come with me, son of Sarah,” the elementals said a third time. Each of them raised a hand, the water swirling through the invisible cage that forced it to hold a shape. “I won’t harm you.”

 

Steve gritted his teeth and charged them. They parted and he stumbled past, but he spun around, swinging the sword, and managed to catch one of them through the middle.

 

The sword passed through the water harmlessly.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Steve dropped the sword and ran away. The elementals turned slowly, stretching out their hands. They bade him to go with them again, and Steve shook off another wave of exhaustion. He collapsed to his knees in the mouth of the tent, Patchouli snoring beside him.

 

“Dammit, Bucky,” Steve hissed.

 

The elementals parted around the fire. Steve looked into the flames and saw in the dancing tongues, a hand reaching for him.

 

Steve stuck his hand out. He unleashed whatever power he had left and the flames burst. Patchouli whinnied in pain as she woke, leapt to her feet and bolted to the river, but the fire engulfed the elementals and the water evaporated.

 

Steve passed out.

 

“Steve…”

 

“Steve, gods’ damn it, wake up!”

 

“Steve, I swear, you don’t wake up now, I’m gonna kill you!”

 

“Steve!”

 

Steve blinked and then squeezed his eyes shut at the light. He groaned, turning away from the sun and hands caught his shoulders, pulling him back.

 

“Steve, open your fucking eyes,” Bucky growled.

 

Steve liked Bucky’s voice. It sounded like a riverbed to him, no, like the coals in a bonfire. He particularly liked it when Bucky hissed things in that low, gravelly tone like that, he sounded like the Alpha Steve had been dreaming about since he was a kid. So when Bucky growled at him, Steve smiled a little and turned to seek out the hard body that was holding him up, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

 

“Steve, I swear to all the gods, I will rip your eyelids open if you don’t look at me right now.”

 

“‘S not a very nice thing to say to an Omega,” Steve complained in a mutter.

 

“Now, Steve!”

 

“Ugh, fine,” Steve grumbled. He half opened one eye, squinting heavily. “‘S bright.”

 

“What the hell happened here?” Bucky snapped. “All our shit’s been singed, Patchouli won’t leave the river, the fire pit looks like it blew up –”

 

“‘Cause I blew it up,” Steve mumbled. “To kill the water.”

 

“What?” Bucky said flatly.

 

Steve closed his one eye and curled his arms around Bucky’s waist. “Oh, you’re shirtless,” he said, his mouth announcing his brain’s realization as soon as it was processed. “Very nice…”

 

“Oh, my fucking gods,” Bucky muttered. “Steve, sit up, seriously.”

 

“No,” Steve said, burying his face in Bucky’s abs. He also realized that he was lying across Bucky’s outstretched legs, and if he rolled over some – Steve did precisely that, putting his nose in the line of Bucky’s hip and inhaling deeply his pure scent.

 

Bucky shoved him off of him. Steve hit the ground with a yelp, then sat up and rubbed at his back while he looked crossly at Bucky, who had fallen backwards and was pink in the face. “What the hell was that for?”

 

“You can’t just _do_ that,” Bucky spluttered.

 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. “I don’t – I don’ know what came over me. Um, there were water elementals.”

 

Bucky blinked at him. Steve rubbed his eyes instead of his back, then took a second just to stare blankly at Bucky’s chest.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, snapping his fingers. “Focus, kid. There were what now?”

 

Steve shook himself. “Elementals,” he repeated. He looked away from Bucky’s bare chest, was briefly distracted by his abs and the coarse line of hair trailing down his torso, then jerked his gaze to the ground and fixed it there. “The river. Someone attacked.”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered. “What happened? What did you do?”

 

Steve pointed to the fire. “Blew it up.”

 

“You blew up the fire?” Bucky echoed, looking over his shoulder. “How the fuck –”

 

“Third thing,” Steve said. Bucky looked back at him, stunned. “My ma said there was a fae somewhere in our line. She could control water, her dam could control earth, I control fire.”

 

“Holy shit,” Bucky said. Then hardened. “You said you didn’t know how to build a fire!”

 

Steve didn’t react for a second. Then:

 

“That’s what you focus on?” he blurted. “Not that I’m a pyromaniac? That I lied about not knowing how to start a fire?”

 

“You could’ve just snapped your fingers and I wouldn’t have had to wait all that time for the fire to catch!” Bucky shot back.

 

“For the last time, I don’t like using magic!” Steve shouted.

 

Bucky faltered. Steve did, too, folding back in on himself as he remembered what the gods had told him through the flames last night.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve muttered. “I had thought that magic was evil for so long – It’s hard.”

 

“The gods gave you a gift,” Bucky said firmly.

 

“I know that now,” Steve said. “I – I scryed last night, the gods – the All-Mothers sent me a message.”

 

“Holy hell, kid,” Bucky muttered.

 

“I turned my back on the gods after my mother was killed,” Steve told him, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. “The Cretans outlawed the old gods when they took over, but my mother brought me up with them. She taught me how to control my magic, how to scry, how to speak with the land and its creatures…”

 

He stopped, then rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “They hung her when I was thirteen, I presented not long after. It nearly killed me, but the Wilson family – They took me in, Mammi nursed me through it, but even still, I was so angry after –”

 

“You renounced your dam’s gods,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Steve nodded. “I didn’t embrace the Cretan gods or anything. They seemed just as cruel as Ma’s gods. I turned my back on all of them, quit using my magic, quit scrying, making potions. I talked to animals still, ‘cause there was no way to make ‘em stop talking to me.” He laughed weakly. “Really, once an animal knows you can understand them, they never shut up.”

 

Bucky nodded gently. “I’m sorry that all happened to you,” he said.

 

Steve shrugged. “Ma always said things happen for a reason. She even said – She even said, as she was being led to the gallows –”  


Steve looked up to the sky, to a watery dawn that was creeping along to the morning proper. The air smelled like rain.

 

“She said that the gods were taking her on to Tír na nÓg for a good reason. That her death played into some grand plan of theirs.”

 

Bucky said nothing to that. Eventually, Steve let his gaze drop back to the ground when he no longer feared that his eyes would well over with tears and shook his head.

 

“I’m sorry I blew up the fire,” he said softly. “I only wanted to destroy the elementals.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky told him, his voice surprisingly gentle. “It was necessary. I guess nothing I gave you protected against magic?”

 

Steve shrugged. “If your sword had been pure iron, it would’ve.”

 

Bucky grimaced. “It’s silver and iron.”

 

Steve nodded absently, then let out a dry laugh. “You’re a werewolf. Why do you got silver weapons?”

 

“‘Cause it works on enchanted creatures better,” Bucky answered with a shrug. He lifted his left arm, then. “Plus, silver doesn’t work on me.”

 

Steve flicked his gaze up to Bucky’s metal arm. He traced over the silver bands, the shattered red crystal set in the shoulder, then the mass of scarred tissue where it met the skin.

 

“It looks like you had to build up an immunity to it,” Steve said.

 

Bucky looked at the scars and shrugged. “I don’t remember it.”

 

“What was the last thing you remembered?” Steve asked abruptly. “Before the spell?”

 

Bucky’s expression closed down. He pushed off the ground and walked away, to the wagon. “We should get on the road,” he called. Steve looked at the tent and sighed.

 

He stood up and slipped inside it. He picked up his clothes, then put them down and tugged the baggy shirt off his shoulders over his head. He tossed it aside, picked up the slip and pulled it on instead. The sky said it was going to rain later, so he didn’t roll back the sleeves of the white gown after he pulled it on. He tugged on his stockings until they rested comfortably over his knees, then pulled on the tartan dress and tied it as best he could. He might have to ask Bucky to tighten the strings in the back later. Steve tied on his apron, then his headscarf and pulled on his boots.

 

He rolled up the bedroll and picked up Bucky’s shirt, slipping out of the tent. Steve looked up and found Bucky standing by the wagon, half dressed and picking stuff out of his hair. He had on his trousers, boots, and shirt,  but the shirt was unlaced and exposed his collarbones and chest.

 

“You should join Patchouli in the river,” Steve said as he walked up.

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, flicking away a twig.

 

“That or get a haircut,” Steve added. Bucky looked at him out of the corner of his eye, unimpressed. “It’s a thought,” Steve said defensively.

 

Bucky shook back his hair. “It helps me blend in.”

 

“Short hair’s not all that bad,” Steve told him, pointing to his own hair, though it was covered by the scarf. “It’s the new fashion.”

 

Bucky cast him another sidelong glance. Steve gave a shrug. “Suit yourself,” he said, then started digging in his bag. “I’ve got a comb –”

 

“No,” Bucky snapped and Steve paused.

 

“Alright,” he mumbled, putting the comb away. “Then – You should get dressed. I’ll coax Patchouli out of the river.”

 

Bucky nodded distantly and continued pulling the bits of debris from his hair. Steve, the morning fog leaching through his clothes, shivered and took a moment to pick up Bucky’s heavy cloak from the ground and drape it over his shoulders. He turned for the river and caught Bucky looking at him, but he turned his face away as soon as Steve met his eyes. Steve dropped his gaze and sighed quietly.

 

Patchouli whinnied from the river. Steve jolted, then looked at her with a disapproving scowl. Patchouli bared her teeth and brayed mockingly.

 

“Shuddup,” Steve muttered, walking toward the river bank. “Are you going to come out of there? I’ll bet you’re half frozen by now.”

 

Patchouli huffed and shook her tail. She was only standing ankle deep in the water then, but her hide was glistening like she had submerged herself as much as possible at some point during the night. Steve remembered how far the fire had burst and winced sympathetically, nearing the water’s edge.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, holding out his hand.

 

Patchouli snorted and wandered near to him, butting her muzzle into his palm and letting him stroke her long face. Steve looked over her sides, spreading his fingers across her damp hair, looking for singes or burns.

 

“You’re alright,” he murmured. “Just startled, weren’t you?”

 

Patchouli knickered and bobbed her head. Steve offered her a smile and combed through her mane with his fingers. Then he clicked his tongue and started walking backwards away from the river and Patchouli followed him, blinking slowly and walking carefully. Out of the river, she shook herself, and Steve yelped and shielded his face with his arms when water droplets went flying.

 

“Stop playin’ around and let’s get on the road,” Bucky called. Patchouli huffed and Steve smiled again, reaching out to pat her flank. “Hey, horse, c’mere so I can dry you off.”

 

“She has a name!” Steve said haughtily. Patchouli blinked and flicked an ear, but walked the gap between Steve and Bucky to allow her master to start wiping down her sides with a cloth. Steve started picking up their things, loading them into the wagon, but came to a blank at disassembling the tent.

 

“You come do this, I’ll brush her,” Steve said, walking away. Bucky grunted in answer, tossed him the damp cloth, and crossed to the tent. Steve watched over his shoulder for a second, then shook his head and finished toweling Patchouli off. The horse snorted at him. “Don’t take that tone with me,” Steve muttered. Patchouli knickered and flicked an ear and Steve gave her a cross look before turning to the wagon and digging around for a brush and comb for her.

 

Patchouli knickered softly as he began to dry and brush her down, but Steve chose not to respond or look over his shoulder. Instead, he poured oats onto the ground to distract her with. It worked well enough. Presently, Bucky loaded the collapsed tent into the wagon, and Steve finished combing through Patchouli’s tail.

 

“Let’s get on the road,” Bucky said.

 

“Fine,” Steve answered. He put the comb and brush away, then tossed the towel into the back of the wagon and crossed back to the cab. Bucky walked up behind him and Steve half expected him to lift him into the cab.

 

Bucky did nothing. Steve glanced at him, then gripped the sides of the wagon and hauled himself up.

 

While Bucky climbed in beside him, Steve pulled the cloak around his body, feeling the cold of the clouded dawn. He shuffled on the bench until he was closer to Bucky, then rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“What’re you doing that for?” Bucky grumbled.

 

“‘M cold,” Steve answered petulantly.

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Bucky countered.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed. He shuffled closer to Bucky again, feeling no relief from the chill in his layers. “Share body heat or something.”

 

Bucky didn’t answer him; he just clicked his tongue at Patchouli. Steve hugged himself with the cloak and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Patchouli maneuvered herself and the wagon back onto the road, and Bucky snapped the reins once to encourage her to pick up her speed.

 

Steve shivered once again and his eyes traveled up the road. He looked over his shoulder, then around to the lands lining the road, then burrowed deeper into the enchanted cloak.

 

“I don’t like the fog,” he murmured to Bucky.

 

“I don’t like it either,” Bucky answered lowly.

 

Steve cast a wary look to the fog swirling across the ground. “Do you think – Do you think maybe the cloak’s magic would cover two people if I tried to boost it?”

 

“It’s got to cover the person entirely,” Bucky hissed back. “It’s a matter of physical space, not magical capacity.”

 

Steve glanced at him, then tugged the cloak off his shoulders. Bucky started to protest, but Steve swung it around his shoulders instead and rose halfway in the cab.

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky snapped.

 

“Sit back,” Steve said, kicking at his knees. “It can cover both of us.”

 

Bucky shifted back on the bench and Steve set himself on his knee. He pulled the edges of the cloak around him, tucking his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and let his legs curl up over Bucky’s other leg.

 

“I’m small,” Steve mumbled. “Works just fine.”

 

Bucky cleared his throat and did nothing else. Steve ignored him and shut his eyes, feeling exhaustion slipping over him again. He’d used too much magic too quickly in too short a time. Bucky was right, if he wanted to avoid this sheer exhaustion every time he used it, he’d have to practice.

 

His mother never viewed her magic as evil despite being raised in the tyranny of Cretus. He’d sullied her memory long enough letting the Cretans doop him into letting his magic atrophy. He’d practice, he’d become skilled even without a tutor. He could be a witch.

 

Steve let his temple rest against Bucky’s clavicle. He was still cold. He raised a hand and looked at the space between his fingers for a long time. A few sparks appeared.

 

“Hey, hey, don’t go setting us on fire to warm yourself up,” Bucky snapped.

 

“I’m just trying to practice,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Practice something else.”

 

“I’m cold,” Steve complained.

 

Bucky reached behind him. His arm disturbed the cloak and Steve shivered, worming deeper into his embrace. He returned with Steve’s traveling cloak, which he draped over Steve’s curled up form.

 

“There,” Bucky said, adjusting the enchanted cloak to cover him as well. Steve pulled the green cloak up his shoulders. “Any better?”

 

Steve reached back and took Bucky’s hand. He pulled Bucky’s arm around his waist and held it securely there with both of his hands.

 

“Better,” he murmured.

 

Bucky let out a sharp breath and said nothing. Steve’s hold on his hand eventually loosened, weariness invading his limbs, but Bucky didn’t pull away. Rather, he squeezed Steve’s hands in return and pushed his arm a little tighter to Steve’s waist.

 

“You’re a real miracle, kid,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'll be back in a lil bit, see y'all then_


	6. THE FIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _chaos's art! is here! it's time!_

#  _[THE FIGHT]_

 

Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting, but Steve crawling into his lap and falling asleep? Steve crawling into his lap and then pulling his right arm – his mangled, ugly, inhuman arm – across his body and holding it there? And falling asleep like that? That wasn’t remotely it.

 

When Bucky had first escaped the Eastmarch and the Cretans that had found him, before he’d paid a hag to enchant a cloak to let him blend in and before he learned to wear gloves and before he realized just how much of a monster the Eastmarch had turned him into, that arm had caused children to cry. Kids bawled in fear, Omegas ushered their little ones away and Alphas put their hands on the pommels of their swords in warning. Bucky was left to slink back into the shadows like the aberration he was. An ill-matched beast, a man corrupted into a weapon and everything human ripped from him. He didn’t blame them. Hell, 90 years ago, if he’d seen a fella like him, he would have swept his sisters behind him and put his hand at his sword.

 

Steve Rogers, though? An out of practice witch and the rare good luck charm Bucky had longed for before he really really understood what having an Omega meant? Steve sought to share the notice-me-not magic of the cloak without hesitation. Steve shared his warmth without hesitation.

 

Steve saw the mark of his monstrosity, knew the truth of him, and did not worry about the risks? Bucky still marveled that Steve had wanted him to stay during the full moon, that he had wanted to help without even knowing him. Bucky still marveled that, for a moment, he had considered it.

 

Bucky figured that with their cover, no one passing on the road would think twice about Steve’s figure curled in his lap. It was unseasonably cold for early autumn, and Bucky was visibly too young to be Steve’s father. Any passerby would assume that he and Steve were newly bonded.

 

Bucky took a wide banking turn away from that mental path. It was too tempting.

 

The amount of magic he had used the night and day before must have really exhausted him, because Steve slept through much of the day. He stirred occasionally to ask for a drink of water or food, but fell asleep again quickly after. Bucky might have found the day to be dull without conversation, had he not been used to keeping his own company. He stopped twice to water Patchouli and Steve walked around at both rests, but clambered back into his lap after each pause to fall asleep again. Bucky wasn’t going to tell him he shouldn’t; he should have done, he shouldn’t have let Steve do it in the first place. But the boy was warm, and it had been a long time since anybody had touched Bucky with kindness.

 

In the evening, when they made camp, Steve suggested Bucky put his bedroll in the tent. Bucky politely refused.

 

“It’s getting cold,” Steve said.

 

“I’ve got the fire,” Bucky answered.

 

“You’d be warmer in the tent,” Steve told him.

 

Bucky shook his head. Steve sighed heavily and let the tent flaps fall shut.

 

It did get bitingly cold during the night. Bucky curled his bedroll as close to the fire as he dared, shivering the whole night through. He hardly slept for it.

 

Bucky blamed Steve. His warmth. Before him, Bucky would have taken the cold and shrugged it off without a worry. He resolved not to let his fleshly longing for warmth win the war over his mind and vowed to stop letting Steve touch him. Bucky put his back to the fire, hoping that it would be warm enough for him to sleep.

 

In the morning, feeling more tired than when he’d laid down to rest, Bucky woke Steve by shaking his shoulder. Steve sat up, then leaned on him to yawn. Bucky put an arm around his shoulders to brace him on instinct, shivering as he felt the heat seeping into his cold skin.

 

“You’ve got gooseflesh,” Steve murmured, running light fingers up Bucky’s mangled right arm. “You should share the tent with me tonight.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky told him.

 

And he was fine. He slept out in the cold for the next few nights, as autumn steadily took over from summer and the temperatures dropped rapidly. Their days grew colder and the nights were worse. Steve bundled up in Bucky’s cloak and shivered day in and day out, and Bucky did absolutely nothing about it. A day passed, another, and another, and they’d been on the road for nearly four weeks. Every night when they made camp, Steve asked if he’d join him in the tent, and Bucky politely declined. As August gave way to September, the first evening of the month found Bucky finishing the wards, and Steve put both their bedrolls in the tent without asking.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep outside,” Steve said firmly. “It’s freezing even now and the sun’s barely gone down. You’re in here tonight.”

 

Bucky found the warmth was too tempting to resist.

 

Even though the fire was a few feet away, the tent had the benefit of shelter from the wind. It wasn’t comfortably warm, but miles better than sleeping outside where the dew could form on his skin and clothes. Bucky entered the tent, shy despite himself, to find Steve sitting up on his bedroll, slouched and rubbing at his scalp with his nails, illuminated by a single candle.

 

“Would it be too much trouble to stop by a bathhouse tomorrow?” Steve said in a grumbling tone.

 

“There’s a small river not far from here,” Bucky said, resolutely not looking at Steve.

 

Steve was already dressed for bed, wearing Bucky’s spare shirt and the enchanted cloak puddled over his lap, and if Bucky wasn’t careful, his Alpha brain was bound to start purring in possessive pride. It was enough that he was compromising Steve’s dignity by sleeping alongside him, enough that Bucky had seen his bare skin, he couldn’t afford to think too hard about the Omega wearing his clothes.

 

“That’ll be freezing, though,” Steve sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath…”

 

Bucky dropped his pack onto the ground, then flopped onto his bedroll and adjusted his pack as a pillow. He loaded his hand crossbow and set it at his side, just in case. He was still dressed in day clothes, minus his armor; he wasn’t about to prance around in his shorts with Steve around.

 

“The river will have to do,” Bucky told him. “We could stand to wash our clothes at this point, let alone ourselves.”

 

Bucky pushed away a mental thought of Steve bathing. He’d have to stand guard while Steve bathed in the river. He’d have to bathe _himself_ with Steve not far off. It was shaping up to be a bad plan.

 

“It’ll be freezing,” Steve complained in a mutter.

 

“Opportunity to practice your magic,” Bucky said. “In small doses.”

 

Steve gave a non-committal grunt. Bucky laid down, putting his back to Steve, and punched his pack a couple of times to get it to lay flatter.

 

Steve blew out the candle. Bucky shut his eyes and tried to let his mind fall silent.

 

Steve’s teeth were chattering.

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder; Steve’s silhouette was curled up into a ball under the cloak, and he was visibly shivering. Bucky immediately felt a pang of guilt, realizing that Steve had been asking him to stay in the tent not out of sympathy, but out of need himself.

 

Bucky considered it, then got up and slipped from the tent.

 

“Where are you going?” Steve hissed after him.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky answered. There were crickets out by then, the sun long gone and the moon visible on the eastern sky. Bucky made his way to the wagon and pulled out the blanket he’d been using to cover their things, shook out the dust, then crossed back to the tent.

 

Steve was sitting up, the cloak pooled at his waist. Bucky did not think of bedclothes or how Steve was waiting for him, but folded the quilt in half and laid it over Steve’s lap.

 

“There,” Bucky said. “You’ll be warmer with that.”

 

Steve pulled the quilt up without a word, laying down again. Bucky returned to his own bedroll, curling up on himself as he tried to fall asleep again.

 

Steve moved. Bucky looked over his shoulder and found Steve pulling his bedroll closer to him.

 

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked in confusion.

 

“We’ll both be warmer if we’re next to each other,” Steve answered, flopping down again. He tossed the quilt over Bucky’s body, then settled down again. “Night.”

 

Bucky turned away again. He took the hem of the quilt and pulled it over his shoulder. “Goodnight,” he murmured.

 

Steve soon began snoring.

 

Bucky found himself watching the firelight dance on the wall of the tent for a long time. The quilt was disturbed with Steve’s every exhale and inhale and there was a pocket of heat forming in the gap between where they both lay. The warmth was ebbing slowly closer and closer still, yet Bucky did not feel tired for it.

 

He felt very awake. The warmth felt like a live charge, and even with his back to Steve, he could sense how close they were. If either of them rolled over, the gap would be shrunk to only a few inches. Bucky wanted to roll over.

 

In the end, he shifted onto his back and turned his head. Steve slept facing away from him, one delicate hand curled over the edge of the quilt to hold it near his ears. The firelight seeped into the tent and left a ring of orange in his otherwise golden hair; looking at it, Bucky was reminded of cornsilk. His family had owned a small plot of land once, and his dam had had the touch when it came to growing things. She loved to grow corn most of all, no less because it was a difficult crop to raise in the climates of Yorke and as such, sold well at the market. Bucky recalled autumn evenings, sitting with his sisters on the porch of their modest home, shucking corn and flicking the silk off his fingers.

 

Steve’s hair looked like it would be just as smooth. Just as cool. It lay, swept aside, over the back of his neck and the cloth cushioning his head. Bucky wanted to roll onto his side and bury his nose in Steve’s cornsilk hair, breathe deeply and identify just what sweet spices he could smell in the Omega’s scent. He wanted to see if Steve’s hair would warm under his fingers or catch on the calluses of his skin. He wanted to know if Steve would shiver and if his lovely skin would erupt in gooseflesh despite the heat between them. Bucky wondered if his own body would finally thaw out that last bit for knowing the taste of the boy’s skin. He looked at Steve and he wanted.

 

Bucky turned back onto his side, facing the wall. He couldn’t let Steve convince him into sharing the tent again. Bucky would embrace the cold again tomorrow night. Wanting would do him no good. He couldn’t have him.

 

When dawn came, Bucky rose and slipped from the tent. Steve was still sleeping and Bucky treaded carefully so as not to wake him. He packed up their campsite, then paused and took a moment to check his maps. The river Titan bent over what used to be the capital of Yorke and branched off to the south and north some twenty miles past the city. They were perhaps sixty, seventy miles west of Brooklyn and just as close to the city of Manhattan, but a tributary of the river Titan ran southeast towards Harlem, which was perhaps twenty miles south of them. If he was right, the offshoot was about ten or fifteen miles northwest of their camp and they could easily reach it before daylight faded.

 

The water would be colder at night, but if Steve could manage to heat it magically, they’d have better cover under darkness. Bucky wished he could say that _Steve_ would have better cover under darkness, but his night vision was just as good as in daylight, and if by some accident he caught sight of the Omega while he was bathing, he’d be able to see just fine.

 

Perhaps he could blindfold himself. He could hear and could take the blindfold off if someone approached.

 

Bucky shook himself of his thoughts. The stream was less than fifteen miles from them and they’d get there long before sunset if they left now. Steve was still exhausted and Bucky didn’t want a repeat of yesterday, so he decided he could let the boy sleep longer and use up the morning hunting up a more filling breakfast.

 

Bucky gathered up his crossbow and a hunting knife and headed for the heather, telling himself that he just wanted to use up spare time, not that Steve’s slimness was worrying him.

 

It didn’t take long for him to track down a rabbit and catch it. He gave it a quick, clean death and hung the carcass from his belt to carry on, now looking for a bird’s nest to raid. There were quails in this area, and it wasn’t mating season for them so any eggs he found wouldn’t be fertilized. He would be able smell the difference in them, anyway. A good twenty minutes of hunting resulted in five eggs and Bucky felt satisfied. He returned to the campsite, and Steve hadn’t yet left the tent.

 

Bucky started with the rabbit. He built up the fire and put a cast iron rack and then a pan on it first, then skinned and cleaned it, cut it up and tossed the fat into the pan to render so he could cook the meat in it. While he waited, he buried the guts and head, then cleaned up the pelt left behind and wondered if he’d be able to dry it while on the move so he could sell it next time they hit a town. He didn’t want to leave it behind and waste it. He’d shot the creature through the eye, so there was little blood on the fur and it was a perfectly good pelt. Bucky decided to hang it on the inside of the wagon and stretch it out with pins. He could fashion a rack for it later.

 

Returning to the fire, Bucky decided the fat had let out enough grease to properly fry the meat. He arranged the cuts in the pan, poking at them with his metal hand, and set out the quail eggs to cook once the fats had been used up. He watched the meat cooking, prodding it occasionally with his metal fingers to keep it from sticking, and eventually, he heard movement inside the tent.

 

Steve slipped out, his hair rumpled from sleep and still dressed in just his night clothes, the enchanted cloak pulled over his shoulders. He yawned and squatted down in front of the fire, blinking blearily.

 

“What’s this for?” he asked in a scratchy tone.

 

“Why not,” Bucky said. Certainly not because he felt the urge to see a little flesh packed on Steve’s bones. That would be highly inappropriate. “Sleep alright?”

 

Steve nodded once. “Warmer than other nights, that’s for sure.”

 

Bucky prayed the heat on his cheeks was just the fire. He kept his gaze on the frying pan.

 

“So, are we heading for the river?”

 

“It’s not far,” Bucky said. “Ten or so miles. We’ll get there by sunset.”

 

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Steve prompted.

 

Bucky shook his head, then poked at a lump of meat. “These are nearly finished,” he said.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Why not what?” Bucky mused, shifting the meat still.

 

“Why aren’t we leaving now?” Steve said. “You’re usually making a fuss about getting on the road in the mornings.”

 

“River’s not far,” Bucky said to the frying pan. He couldn’t look at Steve. “Better to bathe by night.”

 

“I guess,” Steve muttered.

 

And that was all he said. Bucky dug plates out of his mess kit and took the meat from the frying pan to set aside to cool. He cracked the eggs and let them fry, flipping them with his fingers carefully.

 

“I think the frost is coming early this year,” Steve said a moment later.

 

Bucky lifted his gaze to the sky and did what he could to read the clouds. His father had taught him once, a long time ago.

 

“I think you’re right,” he said and the conversation ended there.

 

They ate in silence. Steve ate two eggs and a leg of rabbit, Bucky found his stomach bottomless and ate the other three eggs, three chunks of meat, and two legs. It left a little bit that he wrapped up in a clean cloth and stuck in their food baskets for later, and from there, he started properly breaking down camp.

 

Steve disappeared into the tent to dress for the day and Bucky donned his armor outside by the wagon. When Steve left, he broke down the tent, loaded it into the wagon, and climbed up into the cab.

 

Steve climbed in on the other side, pulled his feet up, and dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky did not react.

 

Steve stayed there, leaning on Bucky, the rest of the day. Around midday, they were stopped by a watchtower and their bags were searched, but Bucky had learned from the last time and had hidden his folded crossbow under Steve’s spare clothes. The soldiers didn’t go digging into that basket. They never really looked at Steve, either, which was a blessing, because he needed to shave. Steve just hugged Bucky’s arm and kept his face angled down, and Bucky let himself lay a hand on Steve’s arm to look as possessive as he knew he shouldn’t be feeling.

 

The soldiers didn’t look at Steve, which was the point. Bucky told himself it was for Steve’s good and to stop feeling pleased about it.

 

It wasn’t very effective.

 

As it was, they reached the stream just as the sun was setting. A bridge had been built over the water some time ago, long enough that it had been old when Bucky was a child, and by then it was unkempt and fallen into disarray. Bucky steered Patchouli up the river until the bridge was distant, then stopped her by the slope leading down to the bank and got down from the wagon. He put down the blocks and started unhitching the horse, while Steve sat in the cab and rubbed at his eyes blearily.

 

“I can bathe in the morning,” Steve said, his voice distant.

 

“You’ll bathe tonight,” Bucky said, reaching into his pockets to get a palmful of barley for Patchouli. “We’re leaving at dawn tomorrow.”

 

“Why are you so awful?” Steve sighed. “Can’t we sleep in a little?”

 

“You slept in this morning,” Bucky answered. Patchouli flicked her ears as she huffed and lowered her muzzle. Steve snorted. “The horse agrees with me,” Bucky insisted.

 

Steve looked at him judgmentally. “She just answered my question about why you’re awful.”

 

“And why is that?” Bucky asked.

 

“Because you’re sexually frustrated,” Steve said in a flat tone.

 

Bucky did four things. He gawked, he turned red, and he dropped the palmful of barley onto the ground to stride off to hide how red his face was. He heard Steve laughing and muttered curses about his horse to himself as he started unloading the wagon.

 

Steve hopped down from the cab and made his way around to Bucky, still giggling. Bucky resolutely ignored him. Or he tried. Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s waist and squeezed, laughing all the while, and Bucky froze up.

 

Slowly, Steve pulled back a little. “Are you okay?” he asked. He stopped laughing, but he hadn’t let go of him.

 

“Of course,” Bucky said. He gently pushed Steve away from him and pulled the bundled-up tent pieces from the wagon. “Why don’t you start gathering wood for a fire? I’ll get the tent set up.”

 

Bucky walked away and did not watch the way Steve just stood by the wagon out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t watching. Steve stood by the wagon, frowning at nothing for a good minute before he shook himself and started off. But Bucky wasn’t watching. He wasn’t.

 

He set up the tent and pulled the bedrolls from the wagon. He tossed Steve’s bedroll, the quilt, and Steve’s traveling cloak into the tent; Steve was wearing the enchanted cloak at the time. Bucky unlaced his bedroll and rolled it out, then set about taking off his armor. He left them in the wagon, then took a second to reach into the food basket and take a bit of rabbit from that morning.

 

Bucky lifted it, opened his mouth, then hesitated. Steve was probably more hungry than him. So he put the rabbit back and took some jerky instead, tearing off a strip with his teeth and walking away again.

 

Camp was set up before long and Bucky was left standing there, with nothing left but the fire to do. He stared at the ground for a while, then turned on his heel and walked in the direction Steve had left in.

 

Bucky found him a few minutes later, plucking moss from a hollow log. Steve looked up at his footsteps and gave a light wave that looked half-hearted.

 

“You alright?” Bucky asked.

 

“Fine,” Steve said, turning back to the moss.

 

Steve didn’t seem fine. In fact, he seemed particularly troubled. Bucky felt awkward and uncomfortable and he wanted to rush to Steve’s aid and fix whatever was bothering him, which was a terrible sign. He lingered near Steve for a second, wondering what he should do, then eventually forced himself to break off and go in search of wood.

 

They didn’t speak to each other as they gathered firewood. They didn’t look at each other as they made their way back to camp. Bucky took Steve’s pile of kindling and moss and started building the fire, and Steve stood off to the side, wordless.

 

Bucky reached for his tinderbox, then paused and stared at nothing for a second. Then he shifted his position and looked up at Steve, forcing a smile.

 

“You wanna light it?” he asked.

 

Steve shrugged. He knelt down at Bucky’s side and held out his hands. Bucky told himself it was fine for him to watch intently because it was magic and not that Bucky liked the way Steve’s wrists were slim and his fingers were long. Steve held out his hands, a frown on his lips, and for a long moment, absolutely nothing happened.

 

There were crickets chirping. Patchouli huffed quietly as she licked up the barley from the ground. Steve was breathing softly, his face screwed up in concentration.

 

For that long moment, nothing happened and Bucky held his breath. Then sparks cracked between the fingers of Steve’s right hand and he drew back his left to focus on the sparks cracking in the air. They were just sparks, and eventually, Steve simply held his sparking fingers to the moss and let the sparks catch on the dry fibers. The moss kindled and Steve encouraged the flame with his magic for a moment, before drawing back and sitting on his rump in the dirt.

 

Bucky used his metal hand to prod the lit moss around so it would catch the kindling. He didn’t look back at Steve.

 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to heat the water,” Steve said.

 

“Have you done anything like that before?” Bucky asked. He still didn’t look back.

 

“Yeah, but not for a very long time.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll go first and you can test your skills on me.”

 

“Why do we have to take turns?” Steve said. Bucky stiffened. “It would be faster just to bathe at the same time.”

 

Bucky jerked his head around and gawked. Steve looked serious. “I’m tired,” he said in a whine. “I don’t wanna wait for you to finish before bathing.”

 

“Then you go first,” Bucky said, feeling his face heating up.

 

“Just go at the same time,” Steve insisted. “It would be so much easier.”

 

“We can’t bathe at the same time,” Bucky countered. “It’s – It’s indecent –”

 

“We’re both men, Buck,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. “You haven’t got anything I don’t have.”

 

“You’re still an Omega!” Bucky spluttered.

 

“But I’m not a woman!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky turned away. “You’re still an Omega,” he insisted, his face hot and his mind churning, trying not to think about bathing alongside Steve and failing. “I won’t compromise your modesty like that.”

 

“Oh, cut out that gentleman act,” Steve said sharply. “If you don’t want to see another man’s body just admit you’re a queer hater and be done with it.”

 

“I’m not a queer hater!” Bucky snapped.

 

“Then how come you get all angry every time I do or say something that implies I’m attracted to you?” Steve answered harshly.

 

“Because it’s not fair to you!” Bucky retorted.

 

“How on earth is it not fair to me?” Steve countered.

 

“Because you deserve better than me!” Bucky said angrily.

 

Steve fell back, looking back at Bucky suspiciously. Bucky hesitated as well, realizing what he’d implied, and looked away with a scowl.

 

“Maybe I don’t want better,” Steve said behind him, sounding stubborn and angry and like he knew just what Bucky wanted and couldn’t have. “Maybe I think you’re a good man anyway and I don’t want to spend the rest of this journey in hostile silence.”

 

“I’m not being hostile,” Bucky said in a sharp whisper.

 

“You never look at me!” Steve burst out. Bucky scoffed and looked at the flames growing. “We’ve been on the road for nearly a month and you hardly look at me ever, and when you do you just look away again immediately like you’re disgusted!”

 

“I’m not disgusted!” Bucky answered, horrified. “Far from it!”

 

Steve’s expression dropped from anger to something softer. Bucky’s eyes widened and he cursed himself under his breath.

 

“I’m not disgusted,” he muttered. “But _you_ should be.”

 

Steve reached out. Bucky stood up and walked towards the wagon.

 

“You bathe first,” he said without looking back. “I’ll keep watch up here, but I don’t need to see to do that.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve called.

 

“I’ll blindfold myself,” Bucky insisted, not answering Steve anymore. “So you won’t have to worry.”

 

“Bucky, I –”

 

“Drop it, Steve,” Bucky said. He pulled a strip of cloth and folded it up, turning back and heading for the fire. “Go and bathe.”

 

Steve stood up and took a step towards Bucky, as though he meant to reach out and touch him. Bucky pulled the cloth over his eyes and tied it securely before taking his crossbow in hand.

 

“Go on,” he said, the firelight staining the cloth orange. “I’ll wait here.”

 

Bucky didn’t hear Steve move for a long time. Then the boy sighed and his footsteps retreated and Bucky let out a long breath. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should not have said a word.

 

He tracked Steve’s movements by ear. He puttered around by the wagon, then made his way down to the water’s edge and sat for a while. Bucky should have kept his hearing unfocused, to listen to everything, but he found himself tracking Steve down to his breathing.

 

Bucky guessed that Steve had succeeded in heating the water because the Omega let out a quiet sigh when he entered the river rather than a hiss of discomfort. Bucky forced himself to stop listening at that point, knowing it would be too tempting to picture Steve’s movements and his movements would be unencumbered by clothing by that point.

 

Steve did not take long in the water. Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. Bucky heard him make the hiss of discomfort as he exited the water, then his footsteps approached.

 

“Don’t take your blindfold off,” Steve announced. “I’m not dressed yet.”

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut even though he was blindfolded. Steve probably just wanted the aid of the fire to dry off, to warm up after exiting the water into the cold night air. Bucky heard fabric rustling and tried not to listen. The temptation to imagine Steve as he dried off – it wouldn’t be too difficult to guess what he looked like, Bucky had seen his bare arms and glimpses of his thighs, that creamy skin would go on and on –

 

Bucky wished he could scrub his mind clean so he couldn’t picture that ever again. It wasn’t fair to Steve, it wasn’t.

 

“Buck?” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky nodded once, not trusting his voice just then.

 

“You can look.”

 

Bucky tugged off the blindfold and blinked a few times before looking up. He gasped and fell backwards, his heart pounding – How had he not heard Steve walking up to him? But that wasn’t as important, Bucky scrambled to his feet and staggered away, shouting: “Gods have mercy, Steve, what the hell?”

 

Steve was wearing only Bucky’s spare shirt and it wasn’t laced properly. His collarbones, sharp and beautiful, showed, but so did the cleft of his flat breasts and the gaping front trailed down to his stomach and Bucky couldn’t – he couldn’t – Steve jumped up, too.

 

 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me!” Steve cried out.

 

Bucky grabbed his heavy cloak and threw it at Steve. “You can’t do that, Steve!”

 

“I can, and I will," Steve insisted, "because I know you want me, you’ve got to know –”

 

“It doesn’t matter if I want you, I can’t have you!”

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm but Bucky tugged away from him, covering his eyes with his mangled right hand. Steve ran in front of him and grabbed both of his hands, Bucky shut his eyes and tried to pull away, but Steve held on with an iron grip.

 

“What if I wanted you to have me?” Steve demanded. “Do I get a say in this at all?”

 

“No!” Bucky snapped, yanking himself out of Steve’s grip. “I’m no good for you, Steve!”

 

“You’re not my Alpha yet!” Steve insisted, grabbing him again. “So you can’t say what’s good for me! I want you and I know you want me –”

 

“You shouldn’t want me!” Bucky yelled, finally opening his eyes; he shoved Steve away from him, hard, and Steve fell back onto the ground.

 

Bucky froze as Steve stared up at him with big eyes, his long legs sticking out from under the hem of Bucky’s spare shirt which mercifully still covered his modesty. Bucky swallowed, his throat dry, and even he was startled by his Alpha tone.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, dropping to his knees. “I didn’t mean to – It was an accident –”

 

Steve scrambled onto his knees and Bucky drew back, but Steve grabbed him by the collar and held on tightly.

 

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

 

Bucky was still frozen.

 

“Please?” Steve asked. “Please, let me show you – It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done, who you are –”

 

“It should matter!” Bucky hissed.

 

“But it doesn’t!” Steve insisted. “Bucky, you’re kind and you’re brave and you’re handsome, you’re nothing like any Alpha I’ve ever met and I’ve never wanted any man to mark me as theirs but I’ve wanted you to!”

 

“I’m a monster, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve snatched at his inhuman right hand. “This does not make you a monster,” he said firmly. “I know you’re really a good man underneath this, this is just a hand, Bucky!”

 

“That’s just the physical evidence,” Bucky argued.

 

Steve touched his face. Bucky swallowed, his throat dry, as Steve’s warm palm pressed to his cold cheek.

 

“The full moon is in a few days,” Steve said quietly. “Stay. Stay and I’ll prove to you that you’re not a monster. You’re still a man, still a good man, Buck.”

 

Bucky pulled away. Steve fell back and Bucky stood up hastily, grabbing the heavy cloak and draping it over Steve’s shoulders.

 

“You should get some rest,” Bucky said. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve said in a gentle plea.

 

“I can’t,” Bucky insisted. He stepped back. “You can’t want me, Steve. I can’t have you. It’s not right.”

 

“That’s not true and you know it!” Steve answered, jumping up.

 

“Get in the tent, Steve,” Bucky insisted. “You’ll freeze out here.”

 

“So will you,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky dropped down in front of the fire. “They called me the Winter Soldier for a reason, Steve. It’s no colder than I already am.”

 

Steve lingered for a while in his peripheral vision. Bucky refused to look at him. He never should have been looking in the first place. Eventually, Steve slipped into the tent and Bucky let out the air in his lungs.

 

His eyes stung. Bucky reached up and swiped at them with his right hand, ignoring the way his rough palm scratched at the sensitive skin around his eyes. He stared into the flames, inhaled a shaking breath and exhaled again.

 

He thought he heard quiet crying in the tent. Bucky squeezed his hands into fists and willed his body not to keen out in sympathy at the sound of his Omega crying. Steve wasn’t his. Steve wasn’t his. Steve was not his, he wasn’t his, he wasn’t his –

 

Patchouli brayed at him from across the camp. Bucky got up and put out a pan of oats for her, but she merely brayed on. The faint sound of crying hadn’t stopped, any normal man wouldn’t have been able to hear it, but Bucky wasn’t normal and that was the point. He dropped back down in front of the fire, his back to the tent. _Steve wasn’t his, Steve wasn’t his, Steve couldn’t ever be his._

 

As the filling moon rose higher, Bucky curled up against himself and Steve was crying still. He told himself that Steve was exhausted and the past few weeks were catching up on him, he was wanted dead for his gift and the poor kid had lost everyone and here he was on the run with a monster who couldn’t even comfort him when he succumbed to the stress –

 

Bucky jumped up and pushed open the tent flaps. Steve sat up right away, his whole body tense and the tracks of tears glistening on his face even in the shadows. Bucky dropped down next to him and hesitantly held out his arms.

 

Steve swallowed, sniffed hard, then put a hand at Bucky’s collar and leaned on him. Bucky wrapped his right arm around Steve’s waist and put the left over his shoulders, holding him gently when he wanted to cling to him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve said not a word. Bucky didn’t blame him.

 

When Steve fell asleep, Bucky carefully laid him down and pulled the cloak and blanket over his body. Then he slipped out of the tent and sat in front of the fire. He stayed there, remaining awake through the night. He hadn’t drawn the wards. And he’d slept nearly every night since collecting Steve, he’d slept enough. He stayed awake through the night, and when dawn rose, Bucky got up and began striking camp.

 

Steve emerged from the tent before long, wrapped in the enchanted cloak and his bare shins showing when he moved his feet. Bucky stopped looking.

 

“We should stop in a village soon,” Steve said hoarsely.

 

Bucky nodded once. “I can see about getting you passage into Dinaea, you’d be safer there.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve snapped. “I meant we should stop so we can stock up on food and shit. I’m not leaving you.”

 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Bucky answered, whipping around. “Steve, I’m a hundred-year-old assassin, the Cretans want me dead more than they want you dead, I’m a _werewolf_ –”

 

“I want you to stop making yourself seem like a heartless bastard!” Steve countered. “Just because bad things happened to you –”

 

“Bad things didn’t just happen to me, I am the bad thing!” Bucky shouted. “I don’t age like a normal person, I don’t hear or see like a normal person, I could kill you right now with my bare hands without even trying! You forget, the wolf just isn’t in me, it _is_ me! I am the bad thing!”

 

“I could kill you,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky stopped and sighed heavily. “No, you couldn’t.”

 

Steve lifted a hand, his face twisted in a bitter scowl. Bucky opened his mouth, then choked, grabbed his throat and struggled to inhale. No air passed through his lips and he fell to his knees, choking –

 

Bucky sucked in a breath and fell over. Steve looked at the ground, his lips still twisted in that bitter scowl.

 

“Air is the easiest thing to manipulate,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky, his chest heaving, stared open-mouthed at him. Steve was looking at the ground, and the contrast was striking; normally it was Steve looking and Bucky refusing to return his gaze.

 

“So, if you think that you don’t deserve to have love because you can kill people, you’re not alone,” Steve announced harshly. “Or if you think it’s because you have some innate power that makes you dangerous – How many times have you told me that my magic is a gift and not a curse?”

 

Bucky still clutched at his throat, at a total loss for words. He stared up at Steve, wondering how he’d forgotten all the stories of witches he’d been raised with. Steve slowly lowered his hand, his fingers curling into a fist. Air passed his lips, but Bucky still felt that he couldn’t breathe.

 

“When I was fifteen, I had a nightmare that I was being attacked,” Steve started an angry rant, “so I lashed out, and I actually threw my friend across the room in my sleep. It seemed a hell of a lot like a curse then, because Sam nearly broke his neck when he fell out the window. We were on the third floor. It was only because he hit the porch roof first that he didn’t die.

 

Bucky didn’t know what to say. How had he forgotten the truth that as a witch, Steve was quite possibly more dangerous than Bucky could ever dread to be?

 

“So you can’t tell me that I have a gift,” Steve snapped, “and then turn around and insist that you’re an irredeemable monster because you were turned into a werewolf, which you didn’t even ask for!”

 

“Steve,” Bucky started, getting to his feet, but Steve didn’t stop.

 

“And I know you’re dangerous, but you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, you’ve never once made me feel afraid of you –”

 

“Steve, just stop,” Bucky interrupted.

 

“No!” Steve insisted. “Even – Even if you’d never consider anything with me, you do deserve to find love one day –”

 

“Love’s for children, Steve,” Bucky cut him off angrily. “It’s unfair and it only ends in pain. So do yourself a favor and get over whatever you feel for me before you hurt yourself.”

 

Steve recoiled. Bucky turned away, not wanting to see the pain in Steve’s eyes. He grabbed Steve’s bundle of clothes, turned and tossed them at him.

 

“Get dressed,” he said coldly. “We need to get going.”

 

Steve didn’t say another word. Bucky filled in the pit for the fire, snuffing out the flames sparked by Steve’s magic, and kept packing up camp.

 

When Steve emerged from the tent again, fully dressed and still wrapped in Bucky’s traveling cloak, Bucky just dismantled the tent. Steve climbed into the cab of the wagon and Bucky put the last of their things in the back, then climbed up next to him and picked up Patchouli’s reins.

 

“C’mon!” he snapped at the horse. She brayed and started back to the road.

 

Bucky found a bridge that wasn’t falling apart and they crossed there. There was a toll and Steve huddled against Bucky’s side so the soldiers wouldn’t look at him. As soon as they’d moved far enough away, Steve pulled away and put distance between them.

 

Bucky told himself that didn’t hurt. He told himself that this was for Steve’s own good, and whatever ache he felt in his chest could just join the rest of the pain he’d endured in his unnaturally long life. The sooner Steve hated him, the better.

 

They set up camp. Bucky lay his bedroll by the fire, and Steve vanished into the tent without a word. Bucky insisted to himself that it didn’t hurt. And later that night, when he heard Steve crying quietly, he balled his hands into fists until the nails on his right hand bit into his palm and the metal frame of his left arm groaned. Bucky did not move. He refused to go into the tent and soothe his Omega’s tears, because Steve was not his.

 

The full moon was nearing yet again and Bucky felt the telltale ache in his joints as the next day dawned. He packed up camp, hitched Patchouli back up to the wagon, and waited for Steve to emerge from his tent and get into the cab of the wagon before taking down the tent. He loaded it and climbed up next to Steve.

 

Steve shifted away from him. Bucky picked up Patchouli’s reins and told his heart to stop breaking. It wouldn’t do either of them any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*gasp* the drama is starting. and did you see that art, chaos wows me every time. i'll see y'all tomorrow!_


	7. THE HEART OF THE WOLF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _emotions, y'all, prepare yours_

#  _[THE HEART OF THE WOLF]_

 

 

Where before it had been Bucky refusing to look at him, Steve was now unable to look at Bucky. Where before it had been Bucky gently pushing Steve away, Steve never even moved in his direction to begin with. His harsh words still rang in Steve’s ears even a _day_ later, _“Love is for children. It’s unfair and it only ends in pain. Do yourself a favor and get over whatever you feel for me before you hurt yourself.”_

 

Steve was already hurting. It hadn’t taken much for him to fall for the enigma that was his rescuer, and it hadn’t taken much for the fluttering feeling in his stomach to turn into utter dread at the memory of Bucky rejecting him.

 

Sure, Steve was used to rejection; he knew that if it hadn’t been for his designation, nobody outside of the slums would have ever taken even a second to help him or even consider him. Nobody would want him or desire him if he hadn’t been an Omega. He’d just be another impoverished kid, not worth the dust on their shoes. So Steve was used to rejection. Most of the people he’d ever felt for before had rapidly turned him down, either out of disinterest for anything beyond a casual lay or sheer disgust at the idea of a relationship with a mere rent boy.

 

Steve just thought that Bucky had been different. Kind, maybe. He hadn’t wanted to dare think that there might have been something in the way Bucky’s eyes lingered on him, but the longer they were together and the no less gentlemanly or polite Bucky had been, the more Steve hoped.

 

But then Bucky hadn’t stopped looking away when Steve caught him. Hadn’t stopped averting his gaze or withdrawing from his touch, keeping distance between them, and Steve had quickly reshaped that hope into indignation, assuming Bucky was just trying to let him down gently. Sure, he’d gotten angry with Bucky first, but Bucky had no right to tell Steve that they couldn’t be together and then comfort him in the tent like that. Bucky had no right to comfort him and then turn around and tell him he was being a child.

 

Steve was growing bitter toward him. He’d think that maybe Bucky was right and he did deserve better, only Steve knew he wasn’t any good, either, and every excuse Bucky made he could use against himself.

 

It still hurt. Steve had cried again the night before and he’d half expected Bucky to come slinking in stinking of regret. Steve had half wanted him to, just so he could yell at him again and tell him to stop fucking around with his emotions.

 

But Bucky hadn’t. And in the morning, neither one of them looked at each other, and it still hurt.

 

They stopped around sunset, earlier than normal. Steve cast a glance to the sky and saw the distant moon, full on the horizon, and knew why. Bucky set up the tent, built a fire, and drew out wards. Steve sank down in front of the fire and stared into the growing flames while Bucky drew sigils in a circle around him.

 

He wasn’t sure, but the flames seemed to form the silhouette of a crying wolf. Steve looked up as Bucky sat down opposite him and shut his eyes. He prayed silently this time, and the sparks from the fire came up blue.

 

Bucky stood up and made to walk past Steve. Steve reached out and snatched his hand.

 

Bucky froze and looked down at him. Steve met his gaze with hardness, daring him to say no.

 

“Stay,” he said.

 

Bucky pulled his hand from Steve’s grip. Steve dropped his hand to the ground, then drew into the Alpha’s cloak and clenched his jaw. The cloak hardly smelled like Bucky anymore, since Steve had been using it so much.

 

Bucky disappeared behind the wagon for a moment and came back out, torso naked and his legs clad in loose trousers, his feet bare. Steve watched him cross the wards and vanish into the forest’s edge.

 

“You should’ve stayed,” Steve murmured to the spectral image of the wolf howling in the flames.

 

Bucky was long gone, and as such, didn’t hear him.

 

Patchouli walked up and kneeled next to him before letting her weight come down on the earth with a heavy thud. Steve brushed aside dust and looked mournfully into the fire. He held out a hand and let the flames slip into his palm, then let them twist the way they wished, but saw nothing recognizable.

 

Steve couldn’t extinguish a flame at its source. He didn’t know how to take fire and kill it from its seed, but he could smother it. He could easily destabilize the air and remove its fuel. He could control flame the easiest, yes, but he could kill the air easier.

 

And if Bucky thought that his history as the Eastern Red Skull’s attack dog made him irredeemable, when he was enslaved using magicks so dark that no one knew how to replicate it, then surely Steve’s sins, done willingly, were worse?

 

The Red Skull killed and used Bucky as a weapon, an extension of his own hand. Steve, staring into the fire, saw the face of a man wild with fright. Steve had just plain killed.

 

Patchouli swung her head towards him and blinked once.

 

“I’m not going to sleep,” Steve said.

 

Patchouli flicked an ear and huffed. Steve ignored her after that. He looked at the flames cupped in his palm for a long while. They stuttered. Without the air, they were snuffed out.

 

Taking the air from a man’s lungs was just as easy as it was to snuff out a flame. That is to say, effortless.

 

Steve let his hands fall into his lap and sighed heavily. Patchouli’s tail flicked at him, but he ignored her. He let the flames be, not taking them back into his palm or watching them twist and turn with an eye to look for meaning. He lifted his gaze heavenward, to trace the stars and watch the moon travel the sky. His mother told him when he was young that when the world was new, a man fathered two children so beautiful that he called them Sun and Moon. That arrogance had angered Odin, so he took the children. The Dagda made them immortal, and the two of them gave the children the responsibility of carrying the sun and the moon across the sky. To motivate them, the Morrígan sent the wolf Skoll to chase Sun and the wolf Hati to chase Moon.

 

Now, the moon chased a wolf. The moon chased Bucky off, and Steve was left shivering from the cold and afraid of a repeat of the attack that had taken place the last full moon.

 

Patchouli flicked her tail at him again. Steve, sighing, dropped his gaze from the heavens to look at her, and her ears were lifted and her eyes wide.

 

A branch cracked. Steve jerked around, reaching for Bucky’s hand crossbow, and a wolf stood in the underbrush near the edge of their camp.

 

For a long time, Steve just stared at the wolf and the wolf stared back. The wolf was massive, bigger than anything Steve had ever seen, and he’d only seen a handful of wolves in his life; the ones the Cretan colonel who governed Brooklyn kept as wardogs. Those had been big enough to take down a fully grown man, and this wolf was bigger than that.

 

And the wolf just stood there, but its body language was odd. It should have been projecting its readiness to attack, but its fur was flat and its tail was low to the ground. Its ears were flattened as well and its muzzle was close to the ground. It wasn’t even growling.

 

After a long minute, Steve flicked his gaze down to the ring of sigils between them. The wolf stood just beyond it, tensed and leaning back like it was ready to run away in the other direction. It was at huge juxtaposition as to what the wolf _should_ have been doing, that it left him speechless. The longer he looked, the more the wolf tensed. With a jolt, Steve understood that the wolf was afraid.

 

Of _him._

 

“I won’t hurt you,” Steve said quietly.

 

It wouldn’t take long for the wolf to understand that Steve could speak with it. Wolves were incredibly intelligent, much more expressive than most other animals. The only animals more communicative were corvids and cats, the traditional familiars of witches.

 

The wolf flicked its left ear, its eyes narrowing. Unlike horses, when a wolf vocalized, Steve could translate its meaning into words without thinking about it. When the wolf let out a slow, quiet sound, half of a growl and partly just exhale of breath, the magic in him took the sound and made it words.

 

_I know._

 

Steve was startled by that response, the wolf distrustingly saying it knew already Steve wasn’t a danger. Then, it pushed forward its left leg.

 

“Bucky?” Steve gasped.

 

The firelight caught on the silver left limb and made the shattered crystal set in the shoulder gleam. The wolf’s _– Bucky’s –_ muddy fur lay over the seams of the silver, thick and matted visibly underneath it. Steve hadn’t thought about it, but he didn’t understand how the silver limb could survive Bucky’s transformation from man to wolf and back and not look different, but there he was, a wolf, and the silver limb had transformed to reflect that. It even had claws, claws that were digging into the dirt.

 

Bucky, the wolf, tensed when Steve said his name. Tensed even more than he’d already been, the muscles of his lean body standing out under his fur. Steve scrambled onto his knees, holding out his hands, and the wolf flinched, drawing back.

 

“It’s okay!” Steve insisted. “I trust you, Buck. You can come to me.”

 

The wolf staggered backwards. Steve dropped onto a palm, reaching out to him, but didn’t get up.

 

“You can come to me,” he whispered. Begging. “It’s alright, Buck.”

 

Bucky didn’t move. Steve licked his lips and turned his hand over, letting his fingers fall back to expose his palm.

 

“C’mere,” he said softly. “I trust you.”

 

Bucky bared his teeth and flattened his ears further against his skull. But he didn’t growl and his claws were still digging into the earth.

 

“I know you don’t believe me,” Steve answered. “But I do trust you. I still want you to have happiness even if you hurt me.”

 

Bucky’s eyes, shining against the firelight, dropped to the ground. Then his legs folded and he let his body come to rest on the dirt, pushing his nose up between his paws. The wolf let out a quiet whine and Steve let out a sad sigh.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ Bucky’s whine meant. Steve stretched out his hand further.

 

“I forgive you,” he told the wolf gently. “Come here, love.”

 

Bucky’s body shifted. Then, still pressed flat to the ground, he started to crawl forward on his belly until he neared the sigils. There, he paused, and he lifted himself off the dirt and stepped over the wards carefully so he didn’t disturb the magic.

 

Steve held perfectly still. Bucky was slow in approaching him, his ears stayed flat to his skull and his tail brushed the ground, but he did come. Closer, Steve could see the raw power in his body, the brute strength underneath the wolf’s pelt. Then the wolf bumped his muzzle against Steve’s palm and lowered his head.

 

“There,” Steve whispered. “See? Nobody’s gonna get hurt, love.”

 

Steve shifted closer and Bucky held still. So Steve carefully lifted his hand and let his palm smooth over Bucky’s flattened ears.

 

“Your fur’s soft,” Steve blurted. Bucky lifted his head and blinked at him twice, then let his haunches come to rest on the dirt and thumped his tail. He let out a low huff and Steve half smiled in reflex.

 

_My ears are soft, not my pelt._

 

“Your ears have fur,” Steve told him, then let his hand push back over Bucky’s neck and down his flank.

 

Bucky was right, only his ears had the silky softness to the fur that Steve had been surprised by, the rest of it was coarse and grimy under his fingers. Steve ran his hand over Bucky’s flank again, and his hand came away dirty. Bloody, too.

 

Bucky ducked his head, then quietly whined.

 

_You shouldn’t touch me._

 

“Shush,” Steve said. Then he stood up. “Come here.”

 

Bucky flicked up his ears as Steve stepped away from the fire. “Come here,” Steve repeated, stepping over the wards. Bucky jumped up and flattened his ears, then growled pointedly.

 

_It’s not safe._

 

“Just for a minute,” Steve said, stepping further. “I want to get on the incline.”

 

Bucky stalked nearer to him, stepping carefully over the sigils. He growled again quietly.

 

_What are you doing?_

 

Steve lifted a hand and made a face while he concentrated. Water started to pool in his palm, then spill over the sides.

 

“Come here,” Steve said a third time. “I’ll wash you.”

 

Bucky’s ears perked upright and much of the tension left his spine. He tipped his head to the side and made a soft sound, asking why.

 

“So you’ll be clean,” Steve said. “Why not?”

 

Bucky took one step closer, whining softly.

 

_It’ll be cold._

 

“The water’s warm,” Steve answered. He flicked some of it at Bucky and the wolf jerked back, blinking rapidly. Steve let out a laugh and Bucky growled.

 

 _Punk,_ he said. Steve grinned and flicked more water at him. Once he started conjuring it, it was easier to do. The water continued to pour over his hands as it continued to produce itself, starting to mix with the earth and turn into the dirt into mud, which was why he wanted to step out of the wards.

 

“Come on,” he said, “don’t be a scaredy cat.”

 

Bucky growled, the wolf’s grumble in protest to being compared to a cat. But he edged his way forward, towards Steve and his dripping palms, until he sniffed the stream of water with suspicion. Steve grinned and thrust his hand over Bucky’s head. The wolf yelped and jerked back, then shook himself. Steve gasped and stopped the water to shield himself, then laughed again and let his hands fall down, the water starting up again.

 

“Come on,” he said yet again, dropping down to his knees. “Let’s get you clean.”

 

The wolf took a step closer and Steve let the water spilling from his fingers pour over his paws. Bucky looked down in fascination as Steve let the water speed up and the dirt and blood started to lift from his fur.

 

“Not so bad, huh?” Steve said, glancing up at him and smiling.

 

He looked down again, then reached out and started to use his fingers to work deeper into Bucky’s fur and the wolf flinched backwards almost.

 

“It’s okay!” Steve said hastily, letting the magic cut off to his left hand and reaching up to touch Bucky’s face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, smoothing a thumb over Bucky’s muzzle.

 

Bucky blinked, then he shut his eyes and pushed his head into Steve’s hand. Steve smiled softly at him.

 

He let the magic flow in his left hand again and the water began pouring anew. He started with Bucky’s right foreleg, then moved around to his hind legs and tail. He didn’t want them to become even filthier than they already were when he started to wash the blood and dirt from Bucky’s back and stomach, which were much worse. Steve figured he didn’t need to ask where the blood came from, so he didn’t think too hard on it. He just worked free the dirt and grime accumulated in Bucky’s fur with his magic, until the water started running clear when it dripped from the wolf and the matted fur under his limbs was smoothed out.

 

“There you are,” Steve said, standing up. “Let’s get you to the fire so you can dry off. I don’t want you getting our blankets all wet.”

 

Bucky flipped his head around to look at him, a low rumble coming from his throat.

 

_I’m sleeping outside._

 

“You’re sleeping in the tent,” Steve said firmly. “Otherwise I won’t sleep at all. I won’t have any arguments from you.”

 

The wolf blinked. Then he huffed, something that didn’t seem to have any intention behind it because Steve didn’t sense any meaning, and he shook himself. Steve yelped, too, and hastened to cover his face, but Bucky sprayed him with water and then let out a soft bark that Steve interpreted to be laughter. Steve flicked his ear and the wolf let his jaws fall open, his tongue hanging out to the side before he barked again.

 

“Jerk,” Steve said, flicking his ear once more. “But you’re still sleeping in the tent.”

 

The wolf flicked an ear. Steve, smiling headed back for the fire, and after a second, the wolf fell into step behind him. After a second, something cold touched his palm and Steve lifted it by reflex, only to look down and see Bucky slipping his muzzle under his palm so it rested just past the wolf’s ears.

 

Steve gave him a smile. “I hope you realize I’m going to be demanding that you touch me more from now on.”

 

They stepped over the wards and Steve knelt by the fire. Bucky sat on his haunches next to him, then nudged his nose against Steve’s shoulders and quietly growled.

 

_I know._

 

Steve shot him a smile, then reached down and untied the apron from his waist to tug it off. He threw it over Bucky’s back and started to rub at his fur. The wolf let out a low sound that sounded almost like a laugh and Steve shrugged.

 

_What are you doing?_

 

“Drying you off,” he said. “This is faster.”

 

Bucky flicked an ear and Steve shifted back onto his knees to reach his other flank. Bucky dropped his muzzle as Steve toweled him off, then shifted his forelegs farther forward like he was trying to be accommodating.

 

As Steve moved to towel off his belly, he glanced up and gave Bucky a wink before saying: “Didn’t think the first time I’d get to touch your chest, you’d have fur.”

 

Steve was sure Bucky would have blushed if he could. As it was, the wolf ducked his head and flattened his ears, but his tail thumped against the ground a couple of times and Steve figured that meant amusement. His apron was thoroughly damp by then, but there was just his belly left and Bucky’s fur was all fluffy now. He leaned in, scrubbing down the length of Bucky’s underbelly, and Bucky’s cold nose touched his neck.

 

Steve jerked, from the cold mostly, and the wolf leapt backward, his ears flat.

 

“It’s okay!” Steve said quickly, scrambling to move back closer to him. “Your nose is cold, that’s all.”

 

The wolf whined quietly. _You’re okay?_

 

Steve touched his flank, then scratched behind his ears. “I’m fine, honest,” he said. “You can mark my neck, love.”

 

He hardly thought about it before it was out of his mouth, but as the wolf’s eyes got big and his ears flattened further, Steve hastened to retract.

 

“I mean, you don’t have to –” he said. “You could, but it’s not like I expect you to or anything –”

 

The wolf bumped his nose into Steve’s face. Steve laughed and fell back onto his rump, then flung his arms around Bucky’s neck and hugged him. The wolf stiffened, but Steve didn’t let go and slowly, Bucky relaxed. He set his muzzle on top of Steve’s head, then pressed into him and dropped his nose to lean against Steve’s shoulder.

 

“It’d be nice,” Steve said quietly. “So… offer’s out there. Whenever you want to.”

 

The wolf didn’t shift for a long time. Steve knew it was moving fast, offering to let the Alpha scent-mark him so quickly when Bucky had just seemed to relent to their mutual feelings, but it had come out of his mouth and once it had, Steve realized he wanted it bad. He wanted Bucky to press into his body and nose along the line of his jaw, rub his cheek along the tendons of his neck and kiss his pulse. And if he wanted Bucky to do it, then Steve felt sure Bucky wanted _to_ do it, and he knew Bucky would need as much encouraging to initiate contact as possible.

 

And if Bucky wanted to scent-mark Steve as a man, then the wolf would desire it more.

 

But Steve didn’t expect the wolf to actually lift back and then press his muzzle into the hollow of his throat.

 

Steve swallowed, but shifted back to rest his weight on his ass and then lifted his chin. Bucky rose to all four legs and pressed into his throat, and after a second, Steve picked up the low growl coming from deep in his chest.

 

_Mine._

 

“I’d like it to be that way,” Steve said carefully.

 

Bucky rubbed his muzzle into Steve’s neck and his growl grew louder.

 

 _Mine,_ he was still saying. The wolf advanced, crowding into his space and towering over him, and Steve left his chin lifted up to submit to him, but he didn’t feel threatened. He felt touched.

 

“Alright,” he murmured. “Yours.”

 

The wolf’s growl dropped off and he licked at Steve’s neck with a rough tongue. Steve bit his lip to stop the whimper that wanted to tear itself from his throat as his scent gland throbbed at the stimulation. Bucky did it a second time, then lifted his head and licked the side of his face. Steve let out a grossed out noise as Bucky’s breath fell in his face and he ducked to the side, falling onto an elbow and laughing. Bucky growled again, a confused one and not the possessive one and Steve kept laughing.

 

“Your breath is awful!” he said. “Honestly, it smells like something died in there.”

 

Bucky huffed. _I killed a hare._

 

Steve sat up. “At least you ate before you came to me,” he said, smiling. “It wouldn’t do for you to get hungry and start eyeing _me._ ”

 

Bucky switched back to the possessive growl and Steve laughed. He sat up and snatched the apron back up from the ground, brushed off some of the dirt, and waved the wolf closer.

 

“C’mere and let me finish drying you off,” he said.

 

Bucky edged closer, his ears straight and his eyes narrow, but Steve just ducked under his muzzle and started toweling his belly again. The heat and friction had taken most of the moisture from his fur, but there was still a wet patch near his hind legs and Steve just shifted closer to get to it.

 

“Oh,” he said abruptly, hesitating.

 

Bucky swung his head around and huffed. _What?_

 

“Um,” Steve said, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. “You’re… Um…”

 

The wolf ducked his head to look between his legs, then looked up and flicked an ear. He seemed unconcerned by the heavy, pink tip of his penis poking out from its sheath.

 

Steve, on the other hand, was highly embarrassed and a little confused. “Does that happen to you often?” he said hesitantly. “In this form, I mean.”

 

The wolf flicked an ear again, rumbling quietly. _Not really._

 

“Not really,” Steve echoed quietly. He laughed shortly. “Never thought for the first time I’d see your dick, you’d have fur,” he said with a nervous cadence to his voice that he couldn’t hold back.

 

The wolf nudged at Steve’s ear with his nose. Steve shifted his weight onto his hip and Bucky nuzzled his shoulder for a bit, then shifted and nuzzled his neck again. Steve nervously licked his lips, unsure of what to do with a horny _wolf._ A man, sure, whatever, no problem, but a wolf? A wolf who was also his potential mate? What was he supposed to do, ignore it and hope it would go away? It wasn't like Steve really could _do_ anything, he wasn’t about to offer to suck a wolf’s dick. Would Bucky start humping Steve’s leg? That’s what a dog would do, surely a wolf would similar thinking. Steve was so confused.

 

The wolf nosed at Steve’s face and let out a soft, canine hum. _You’re worried,_ he said simply.

 

“Um,” Steve repeated. “You’re not…?”

 

Bucky rumbled again. _Mine,_ was all he said. Steve looked up and mouthed a curse; clearly, as a wolf, Bucky wasn’t much of a deep thinker.

 

“Is it going to go away?” Steve asked bluntly. “Or do you need to – need to go somewhere and take care of it?”

 

The wolf looked back between his legs, then up again and licked Steve’s face. He growled possessively.

 

“Okay, don’t go anywhere,” Steve said quickly. “Just – What are you going to do?”

 

The wolf blinked, then huffed. _Nothing._

 

Steve sighed. “You’re going to ignore it?”

 

The wolf flicked an ear, huffing again. _Doesn’t matter._ He shifted closer and nuzzled Steve’s other shoulder, growling possessively.

 

“Gods,” Steve whispered.

 

He shut his eyes, then let his head fall back and Bucky rubbed his muzzle over Steve’s throat. The wolf’s slightly angry growl deepened, becoming more of a rumble, then the growl dropped off and Bucky simply licked at Steve’s scent gland again. Steve bit his lip, hard, and kept his eyes shut.

 

Then the wolf shifted and flopped down next to him, and Steve let his head come forward, opening his eyes. He found the wolf calmly licking between his legs and Steve shifted to look away. His scent gland was pulsing somewhat under his skin. Knowing that Bucky was aroused too didn’t help his situation.

 

Steve just curled up on himself and wished the feeling to go away. It didn’t take long, his scent gland calming and the tightness in his groin relaxing, and after a little while, the wolf got up and turned around to face the fire instead. He flopped down and put his head on Steve’s knee, shutting his eyes.

 

Steve let a hand come to rest on his head, then slowly stroked his fur. Now that it was clean, he understood why Bucky chose to name himself the White Wolf. His fur was snow white, with silver-gray accentuating his eyes and belly. His coat gleamed in the firelight.

 

 

“You feel dry now,” Steve said. “You wanna go to sleep?”

 

The wolf got up. He licked Steve’s cheek, then nudged at him with his throat and quietly rumbled. _Sleep,_ he agreed. Steve got up and ducked into the tent, the wolf following him.

 

Steve lay down, pulling the blankets and quilt over himself, then the wolf flopped down beside him and put his head between his paws. Steve shifted onto his side, then reached out and curled a hand into Bucky’s fur. It was properly soft now, smooth and still a little cool from being wet.

 

The wolf blinked at him. Steve gave him a smile, then shut his eyes and let sleep steal over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _there is nothing softer than steve reaching out to wolf!bucky and telling him he trusts him. unless it's the drawing chaos did of them sitting by the fire. that's the softest thing in existence, there is nothing that can top it. see you in a few hours with the next update!_


	8. THE HEART OF THE MAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _insert witty comment here_

#  _[THE HEART OF THE MAN]_

  


There was smooth skin under Steve’s palm when the fog of dreams lifted from his mind. Steve shivered and shifted to get closer to the body next to his, feeling warmth under his palm and cold at his back. A hand closed over his, then an arm shifted under his neck and drew him in.

 

“It’s dawn,” he heard Bucky’s voice whisper. “You should wake up.”

 

Steve squeezed his eyes, pressing his face into the hollow of a shoulder and breathing in the mellow scent of a relaxed Alpha. He inhaled and let the tension slip from his brow, his shoulders, and rubbed his cheek against the skin under his face.

 

“It’s time to wake up,” Bucky murmured. Something shook Steve’s shoulder. “Come on.”

 

Steve yawned, stretching his mouth open and squeezing shut his eyes, then pulled his hand from underneath the weight pinning it and rubbed at his nose. “Dawn?” he mumbled.

 

“A little past it,” Bucky told him. His voice was soft, rumbling quietly like the wolf’s. “But we should get back on the road.”

 

Steve opened his eyes and blinked slowly. He wasn’t looking into Bucky’s eyes, his face was angled as his cheek rested on the swell of Bucky’s chest. He saw bronzed skin and dark chest hair that lead in a trail down a set of carved abdominal muscles, then Steve sat bolt upright.

 

“Bucky!” he gasped.

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, lifting onto his elbows. “Who else?” he answered dryly.

 

“You came back!” Steve whispered sharply.

 

Bucky looked away from him, his face tightening. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean to.”

 

Steve faltered. He still had a hand lying on Bucky’s waist, but he drew it back and shifted to fold his legs. Bucky grabbed the blanket and pulled it up hastily when they pulled at Steve’s movement, but Steve hardly noticed.

 

“Do you remember anything?” Steve asked quietly. The tender movements, the marking, the wolf growling as he asserted his claim? “At all?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky repeated, again, like he was a confusing mixture of sad and sorry. “Not – Not precise details, but what happened… Yeah.”

 

“You regret it,” Steve stated flatly.

 

He lifted a hand and touched it to his neck, where the wolf’s rough tongue had swept over his scent gland, and he looked away from Bucky, feeling his own confused mixture of sad and sorry.

 

Bucky didn’t answer. Steve didn’t need him to. He shifted to hug his knees and hid his face in his arms, clenching his jaw and clenching his eyes shut. Bucky regretted claiming him.

 

A hand fell on his shoulder. Steve jerked, but Bucky pushed an arm around him anyway and hugged Steve tightly from the side.

 

“I should have gone about it differently,” Bucky said slowly. “You… You deserved to hear all that from me – Not from the wolf.”

 

Steve swallowed. “You didn’t want to say it.”

 

Bucky sighed and gave a shrug. “I thought it was for the best. The wolf – It knows only a couple of things. It knows orders, it knows killing, hunger, and I guess…”

 

“What’s his,” Steve said quietly when Bucky didn’t finish.

 

Bucky sighed heavily behind Steve. Steve let out a short breath and turned further away from him. He couldn’t believe this.

 

“I tried not to let my feelings for you affect me as a wolf,” Bucky said. “But it still knew.”

 

“And you regret it,” Steve repeated. Abruptly angry, he shoved Bucky’s arm off of him, then the man himself back. “What was it you said?” he snapped. “Forget whatever it is you feel for me before you get hurt? Well, I wish _you’d_ forget what _you_ feel,” Steve snarled at Bucky, “so you’d stop hurting _me._ ”

 

In the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky hanging his head. Steve thought he looked sorry, and he should. Bucky should feel shame for how he kept changing his mind and messing with Steve’s heart. Steve had taken his rejection and not looked back. It wasn’t fair that Bucky kept glancing over his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured.

 

“You should be,” Steve hissed emphatically.

 

“I was wrong,” Bucky added.

 

Steve sat up. Then he turned around and gave Bucky’s shoulder another hard shove, throwing Bucky off balance and away from him.

 

“Cut it out!” Steve demanded sharply. “You can’t keep doing this to me, make up your damn mind!”

 

“I’m making it up!” Bucky answered. “I’m sorry and I was wrong! Last night –” Bucky started to talk, but Steve scoffed and shook his head. Bucky just plowed on. “The _second_ I changed, I was running back,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me turning into the beast to realize that we belong together, but I see it now.”

 

Bucky ended abruptly and Steve was left watching him with distrust.

 

“I only wanted you to have somebody worthy of you,” Bucky told Steve in a quiet tone.

 

Steve just glared on. Bucky broke eye contact and drew up the blankets to hide his nakedness even more, really the only indication that the last time Steve had seen him, he hadn’t had the body of a man.

 

“But I see now that – That it’s not the beast in me that makes me unworthy,” Bucky said to his hands in his lap. “It was me trying to make your decisions for you, trying to deny you the choice. I want to make it up to you. So – So if you’d have me –”

 

Steve exhaled and with the breath leaving his chest, he let go of his frustration. He reached out and took Bucky’s hand; the right one, the flesh and blood one, the one with the yellowed and hardened nails like claws and the darkened, cracked skin like leather.

 

Bucky broke off as Steve picked up his hand, then pulled it toward him and turned it upside down in his palm. Steve pressed his palm to Bucky’s, then shifted it down and touched their wrists together.

 

Bucky gripped his forearm and held it gently. Steve let his nails dig into Bucky’s hairy forearm. He bent his wrist to stretch out his skin and let the scent of his body transfer into Bucky’s and the scent in Bucky’s skin transfer to him.

 

“I said I forgave you,” Steve told him gently. “I never changed my mind.”

 

Bucky let out his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said a third time.

 

“I know,” Steve answered. “And you can make it up to me.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said firmly. “I’ll do this right, Steve,” he promised. “The best that I can.”

 

Steve let out a long breath, but Bucky squeezed his arm gently and offered him a smile. Steve copied it on reflex, then shifted his gaze to eye the blanket covering Bucky’s lap.

 

“You can make it up to me right now,” Steve suggested hopefully. “If you don’t mind getting on the road a little later.”

 

Bucky turned red all the way down to his chest. Steve grinned and laughed, covering his teeth with a hand as Bucky yanked the blanket up to his nipples and blushed furiously.

 

“What’d I just say!” Bucky hissed. “I’m gonna _court_ you, Steve!”

 

Steve laughed again. “Court me,” he repeated with a snort. “Funny. Like you can court me while we’re on the run for our lives.”

 

Bucky leveled a finger at him, having to drop the blanket and giving Steve a lovely view of his chest in the process. “I can court you,” he insisted. “Hell, I’m gonna _woo_ you, like nobody’s wooed you before!”

 

“Nobody has,” Steve sniggered.

 

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Bucky said firmly. “So I’m really gonna do this properly now.”

 

Steve, though he was still laughing, let his hand fall and shifted onto his knees in front of Bucky, then lifted his chin. “Only if you’ll mark me first,” he said softly.

 

Steve watched Bucky swallow from through his lashes. Bucky’s eyes were glued to his throat, the blush rising in his chest yet again. Steve wondered how far down that blush could go.

 

Bucky shifted onto his knees as well, letting go of Steve’s wrist and grasping the blanket with his metal hand. The flesh hand he lifted, reaching up and carefully touching Steve’s jaw with the tips of his fingers. His nails were sharp, but gentle on Steve’s skin. Steve left his eyes open as Bucky rose to lean over him. Bucky licked his lips and Steve let his gaze fall to them.

 

“Do it,” Steve dared Bucky softly.

 

Bucky ducked his head and Steve shut his eyes as Bucky pressed his nose into the side of Steve’s neck. Bucky inhaled sharply, then let out his breath slowly and rubbed his nose along the side of Steve’s neck. Steve tipped his head further back, egging him on, and Bucky let his cheek brush along his neck.

 

Steve let out a quiet, involuntary sigh. “You gonna growl for me?” he asked softly.

 

Bucky’s hand dropped to grip his shoulder and he did, Bucky growled low in his throat, and Steve felt a shiver slip down his spine as Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s neck. The man’s growl was deeper and darker than the wolf’s, much more exciting and Steve had to clench his fists to keep still.

 

“You’ll be mine,” Bucky promised quietly. His lips pressed to Steve’s pulse and he pulled away abruptly; Steve held back a sound of disappointment. “I’ll make you mine,” Bucky added, “after I’ve earned it.”

 

“When will you have earned it?” Steve asked, leaving his throat exposed and looking at Bucky through his lashes.

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said with a shrug. “You’ll know.”

 

Steve let his chin fall. He lifted onto his knees to touch Bucky’s face with one hand his chest with the other. “What if I think you’ve earned it already?” he asked.

 

Bucky’s eyes were dark. He pressed a hand over Steve’s, pinning it against his chest, then he touched Steve’s face with his other hand and brushed a thumb against his cheek.

 

“When I say I want to make you mine,” Bucky said very, very softly; his voice was dark as his eyes, almost a growl and it still sent a second shiver down Steve’s spine, “I mean I want you to be _mine._ ”

 

Steve’s eyes jerked farther open as he leaned back. “Oh,” he whispered. “You mean –”

 

“Bonding,” Bucky murmured. “When you think I’ve earned that – That’s when I’ll make you mine.”

 

Steve blinked at him. “Bonding?” he repeated almost incredulously.

 

Bucky nodded seriously. “I want to do this right,” he said yet again.

 

“People don’t _bond_ anymore,” Steve insisted. “It’s – It’s risky, it’s dangerous. If we bonded and one of us got hurt – Or died –!”

 

“Is that what the Cretans say?” Bucky asked softly. “Because when I was a boy, bonding was the ultimate sign of trust. Devotion. An Alpha bonded with an Omega to prove he was willing to commit his _life_ to that Omega.”

 

“I don’t need your life,” Steve muttered.

 

“I want you to have it,” Bucky insisted. “Because you deserve no less.”

 

“It’s against the law,” Steve blurted. “Nobody’s allowed to bond anymore. Too many Omegas died because their mates fell to the Red Skull.”

 

Bucky swept his thumb over Steve’s cheek again. “Omegas don’t die because their mates fall, Steve. They die because they lose their will to live without their Alphas. Alphas are the same.”

 

“So what if I die and you lose your will?” Steve said. “I have awful health, Buck, I could get sick and –”

 

“But people don’t get sick in Wakanda,” Bucky reminded him. “Isn’t that the legend?” he prompted. There’s no illness or disease there.”

 

Steve blinked. “Wakanda’s months away,” he said numbly. You’ll wait that long?”

 

“I’ll wait another lifetime if I need to,” Bucky assured him. “I won’t push you.”

 

“You’re serious,” Steve said flatly.

 

Bucky nodded. “You deserve devotion,” he insisted.

 

“You keep saying I deserve things,” Steve started, “and earlier you said I deserved someone better than you, but then you said that you shouldn’t have been deciding what I did or didn’t deserve.”

 

“You’re right,” Bucky said calmly in reply, “but you’ve got amazing patience and you’ve given me kindness and forgiveness freely –”

 

“You deserve that, it’s basic human kindness,” Steve interrupted.

 

“And it’s no less than basic respect when I say you deserve commitment,” Bucky continued. “Proof that I won’t change my mind on you again.”

 

Steve faltered. “Proof?”

 

Bucky nodded. “It’s what the gods gave us bonding for.”

 

“Tying each other’s lives together?” Steve asked. “To the point that if one of us dies, the other’s going to wither away?”

 

“We’re not meant to live our lives kept apart,” Bucky said. “It’s love, Steve. The highest demonstration of it. I don’t want to outlive you. And without a bond, I would. You’d grow old and fade away, but I’d still look young. If we bond, I can grow old with you.”

 

“I don’t want to grow old at all,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky laughed gently. “Staying young forever’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said with a wry smile. “Trust me, I’ve been 20 for the past eighty or ninety years.”

 

“Yes, but your refractory period’s got to be mere minutes!” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky turned bright red. “Well – I mean –”

 

“And you want to grow _old,_ ” Steve sighed. “I don’t suppose if we bonded, I could just stay forever young _with_ you?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “We’d have to find out.”

 

Steve bit his lip. “And you’d wait?” he asked. “Until I’m ready?”

 

“However long that takes,” Bucky said.

 

“Alright,” Steve answered with a sigh. “Then if you’re not fucking me this morning, put some clothes on so I don’t have to keep looking at that.”

 

He pointed down. Bucky snatched the blanket and yanked it back up, the blush returning. Steve laughed at him and hugged him around the neck tightly, enjoying the feel of Bucky’s bare skin under his hands while he still could.

 

“Just remember that I’ve seen it and it’s mouthwatering,” Steve said in his ear. “So whenever _you’re_ ready, I’ll be happy to take your virginity.”

 

“I’m not a virgin!” Bucky insisted in a spluttering tone.

 

Steve laughed at him, then kissed his cheek and stood up. “I’ll bring you your clothes,” he said. “What happened to the pants you were wearing when you left?”

 

Bucky sighed heavily. “They’re somewhere in the woods,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember where I left them.”

 

“You took them off?” Steve asked, frowning.

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Steve, I turned into a _wolf._ What’s a wolf going to do with pants?”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said, shrugging. “What’s a wolf going to do with a metal arm?”

 

“It transforms with me,” Bucky said, lifting his left arm and giving it a vague wave; the hand fluttered and wobbled limply, which was impressive for a metal arm. “It’s enchanted.”

 

“What powers the enchantment?” Steve asked, tipping his head to the side.

 

“Can I put on pants before we continue?” Bucky asked, blushing again.

 

“Sure, love,” Steve said, smirking, “but you’ll pitch a tent in those just as much as you do with the blanket.”

 

Bucky jerked his legs together and the blanket up and Steve laughed at him. Shaking his head, Steve slipped out of the tent and headed for the wagon where Bucky had stashed his clothes. He laughed at Bucky, but he couldn’t really blame him. Steve was just glad he was wearing a skirt and smallclothes that were thick enough to not be visibly moved or stained by his own arousal.

 

Grabbing Bucky’s clothes, Steve waved to Patchouli grazing near the heather. She flicked her ears and huffed, lashing her tail.

 

“We’ll feed you,” Steve promised, tugging Bucky’s trousers and shirt from the pile of his clothes. “Just be patient.”

 

Patchouli lifted her head and brayed snarkily. Steve gave her a stern look.

 

“You listen to Bucky too much,” he said. “And if you were a person, I’d wash your mouth out with soap.”

 

Patchouli huffed again, then returned to grazing. Steve draped Bucky’s trousers and smallclothes over his arm, taking the shirt and his tunic in hand with his boots. He made his way back to the tent and pushed his way in.

 

“And here I was hoping I’d find you jerking off,” Steve said sadly when Bucky sat up at his entrance. “Get dressed and go feed your horse so I can use the tent.”

 

“You’re already dressed?” Bucky said, frowning despite his red cheeks.

 

“ _I_ want to jerk off,” Steve said simply, dropping Bucky’s clothes onto his lap. “I mean, you could stick around and help, but with this whole courting thing –”

 

Bucky grabbed his clothes and yanked the blanket all the way over his head, his whole body pink. Steve laughed and ducked back out.

 

Patchouli brayed at him again. Steve waved a hand at her, then pointed at the fire and the remaining flames began to sputter. They choked in seconds without the air and the coals lost their dim glow. Steve started kicking dirt into the pit, then stopped and tipped his head to the side to consider said dirt. His mother hadn’t been good at manipulating the earth, so she’d never really taught him, just said he ought to try it sometime and see if he could. So he pointed at a mound of dirt and screwed up his eyebrows.

 

He heard the tent flaps rustle and Bucky emerge. He walked up behind Steve, glanced at the dirt, then at his wrinkled eyebrows.

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked.

 

“Shh!” Steve hissed. He scowled harder. A few flakes of earth began to tremble. Bucky looked down again, then back up.

 

“What,” he said flatly.

 

Steve jerked his finger into the pit. The loose earth began to cascade into the hole, filling it rapidly. Steve let his magic swing in a circle around the pit, until it filled in and there was nothing left. Then he made a fist and the dirt settled itself, looking like it had never even been touched.

 

“What?” Bucky said again.

 

“Magic,” Steve said, grinning as he looked up.

 

Bucky looked at the dirt, then back at him. “So you could cover our tracks?”

 

“I could make it look like we never camped here,” Steve said. “And then pass out probably. But I doubt I could erase our wheel tracks all day long.”

 

Bucky huffed. “Damn,” he muttered. “It’d be useful.”

 

Steve snapped his fingers and a little flame appeared at the tip of his index. “I could set everything on fire.”

 

“That would not hide our tracks,” Bucky informed him calmly.

 

Steve sniggered and snatched the flame up, squashing it out of existence.

 

“Pack up,” Steve told him, then hooked a finger into the open laces of his shirt and tugged Bucky down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 

Bucky turned red. Steve smirked and let go, ducking back into the tent. He heard Patchouli braying, then Bucky storming off to finally feed the damn horse. Steve dropped onto his bedroll and pressed his nose into the space where Bucky had lied.

 

True to his word, Steve emerged from the tent about five minutes later, feeling refreshed and satisfied. Bucky looked up at him, turned pink, and looked away quickly. Undaunted, Steve walked up to him and grasped Bucky’s forearm, pulling him up from his crouching position by the wagon. Bucky’s nostrils flared and Steve lifted onto his toes to throw his arms around Bucky’s neck, hugging him happily.

 

Bucky’s hands came to rest on Steve’s waist, then slipped around to cradle his spine. Steve let out a soft sigh, breathing deep Bucky’s scent, then rested his weight against Bucky’s solid chest.

 

“Gods,” Bucky murmured. His nose brushed at Steve’s hair, then a hand slipped up his back to cradle his neck instead of his spine. “You’re gonna kill me, Steve.”

 

“You’ll die happy,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky’s arms tightened. He ducked his head and Steve let his head fall to the side without hesitation, and Bucky growled into his neck.

 

“I will,” he agreed, nosing at Steve’s neck and scenting him.

 

Steve let his eyes shut and he let himself hang in Bucky’s grip. “Now I’m tired,” he said. “You can start wooing me.”

 

Bucky nuzzled his neck lightly. “I can, can I?”

 

“Mhmm,” Steve answered. “I’m ready to be wooed.”

 

Bucky’s hands shifted back to his waist. Then Steve yelped as Bucky lifted him easily, carried him over to the cab of the wagon, and put him down on the bench.

 

“Then rest your pretty little ass and watch me work,” Bucky told him, a smirk curling his lip.

 

Steve blinked, astonished. Bucky winked and Steve actually blushed.

 

“Put on your headscarf, sweetheart,” Bucky said.

 

Steve pulled lifted his scarf from a pocket of his dress, then waved it like a fan at his face. Bucky laughed and stepped back, crossing back to the tent to start dismantling it. Steve leaned an elbow on the wagon’s frame, watching Bucky’s muscles work from underneath his leathers, enjoying the way veins stuck out under his skin on his right arm and his shoulders filled the breadth of his shirt.

 

“It would look better if you took your shirt off,” Steve called.

 

“You already saw me shirtless this morning,” Bucky answered, shooting him smile.

 

“And what a sight,” Steve sighed happily.

 

Bucky shook his head and kept on taking down the tent. He dropped his gaze to Bucky’s ass as he crouched to roll up the bedrolls, a smile curling his lip. He whistled and Bucky shot another glance over his shoulder, then looked away to shake his head at him.

 

“Whatta man,” Steve called.

 

“You’re lucky I don’t mind being objectified,” Bucky told him, hefting the collapsed tent frame onto his shoulder and heading back to the wagon.

 

“Mhmm,” was all Steve said in answer.

 

Bucky tossed the enchanted cloak up to him and Steve pulled it over his shoulders with ease. It smelled like the Alpha again, too.

 

“ _You’re_ lucky you look like a piece of prime meat,” Steve told him.

 

Bucky tossed the tent frame into the wagon, then stepped back, lifted his arms and flexed. Steve whistled again and Bucky laughed, turning away to grab the last of their things.

 

Steve dropped his cheek onto the back of his hand, smiling as he watched Bucky pack up camp. When the last of their things had been tossed into the wagon, Bucky hitched up Patchouli and climbed into the cab next to Steve, settling down at his side and taking up the reins. Steve tapped Bucky’s shoulder, and when Bucky looked at him, tapped his own cheek.

 

Bucky grinned, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. Steve grinned back and nudged his shoulder against Bucky’s, then leaned into him and rested his head on his arm. Bucky snapped the reins and whistled to Patchouli, who whinnied and started a light trot back to the road.

 

That day was infinitely better than any other day Steve had spent with Bucky yet, because the moment they were fully on the road and Patchouli was maintaining a gentle canter without effort from Bucky controlling the reins, Bucky threw an arm over Steve’s shoulder and drew him tightly against his side. Steve grinned, pushing an arm behind Bucky’s back and letting his other hand rest on Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky kissed his hair.

 

“How long has bonding been illegal?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve shrugged. “Years. Don’t think even my grandmother knew anybody who was bonded. It didn’t make sense to do it when every Alpha was being conscripted into the army, I guess.”

 

“Cretans turned to conscription, huh?” Bucky said, then huffed. “Guess that makes sense. Still, they’re hardly better than the Eastmarch.”

 

Steve nodded. “No better at all.”

 

“I’d say we ought’a cross the Dinaean border for real,” Bucky said, “but it’d be easier to get to the West Mountains through Cretan territory.

 

“Dinaea closed their borders, anyway,” Steve said. “So did the Nords. Too many Cretans snuck past their lines pretending to be seeking asylum.”

 

“I couldn’t get across as a refugee anyway,” Bucky said. “Everybody wants me dead.”

 

“Nobody knows what you look like,” Steve answered, looking up.

 

Bucky tapped his left hand against Steve’s knee. “Border inspections are more thorough than you’d think,” he said. “Everyone’s looking for the one guy with a metal hand.”

 

“Oh,” Steve muttered, glancing at Bucky’s left hand covered by his gloves. “I guess you’re right.”

 

“There’s a town a few days off,” Bucky said abruptly. “We’ll stop there, restock on supplies, and I’ll pick up your first gift.”

 

“What?” Steve said, sitting up. “What gift?”

 

“Courting gifts,” Bucky answered. Then glanced at him. “You don’t know about courting gifts?”

 

“I mean, I can guess,” Steve said slowly. “I didn’t really think about it, though. Do I need to get you gifts?”

 

“No, only the Alpha gives gifts,” Bucky told him. “Do people not give courting gifts anymore?”

 

Steve gave a shrug. “Maybe the upper classes would, but I never heard of anybody in the slums getting gifts. Alphas just pay bride prices and they get married.”

 

Bucky did not look impressed. “Bride prices,” he repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Goats and such.”

 

“How many goats are you worth?” Bucky asked, starting to chuckle.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, frowning. “My dam died before I presented and I never knew my father. Maybe Mammi and Pa Wilson would have set a bride price for me since they took me in, but I joined the Red Room before anybody could suggest it.”

 

“The Red Room?” Bucky questioned.

 

“Courtesans’ guild,” Steve explained. “Second I was fifteen.”

 

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Courtesans’ recruit fifteen-year-olds now?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I was of age.”

 

Bucky glanced at him sharply. “You were fifteen!”

 

“That’s of age,” Steve said simply. “It’s a year past presenting, I presented at fourteen.”

 

“Cretans lowered marrying ages?” Bucky muttered. “It was twenty no matter what age you presented at when I was a kid.”

 

“I don’t think it was the Cretans,” Steve answered. “My great-grandmother was sixteen when she had my grandmother, but she wasn’t married.”

 

Bucky said nothing. “You are twenty by now, right?”

 

“Twenty-one!” Steve insisted. “I told you that!”

 

Bucky shrugged. “You look as young as I do.”

 

Steve huffed. “Guess that’s a compliment,” he muttered.

 

“Well, I’m courting you properly,” Bucky said firmly. “As best as I can without your family’s input.”

 

Steve shrugged, then leaned back on Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t know what people did to court when you were young,” he murmured. “What’re you gonna do?”

 

Bucky squeezed his shoulder. “Well, I gotta break a few rules. Technically, I ain’t allowed to touch you until I’ve given you your first gift and then I can really only hold your hand and all. And we’ll be sharing the tent when we ought not to be alone together at all until I give you the last gift, but I won’t do anything worse than that.”

 

“Shame,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky cleared his throat. “I gotta give you seven gifts,” he said without acknowledging Steve’s comment. “You get to reject them if you want, and if you reject three that means I gotta back off.”

 

“I won’t reject any,” Steve assured him.

 

“I’m just saying Omegas have that option,” Bucky told him. “And after seven gifts, I offer marriage.”

 

“Marriage,” Steve muttered. “Didn’t think I’d ever really get married.”

 

“‘Cause of the courtesan thing?” Bucky asked, wincing a little.

 

Steve shook his head. “No, my line’s cursed,” he said simply. “My great-great-grandmother’s Alpha was already married, so that man’s wife paid to have my family cursed so none of the Omegas in our line would ever get married.”

 

“Very funny,” Bucky said.

 

“It’s not a joke,” Steve said, looking up. “My great-grandmother didn’t marry, my grandmother didn’t marry, my mother didn’t marry. That’s five generations of unmarried Omegas.”

 

Bucky glanced at him. “Oh,” he said. “Uh, well, barring tragic accident, I’ll offer.”

 

Steve shrugged. “I mean, it doesn’t really matter to me. What’s marriage if we’re going to bond anyway?”

 

Bucky was quiet for a while. “It’s the public part,” he said then.

 

“Public?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky gave a shrug. “Yeah, you court, you offer marriage, you have a wedding and there, you publicly declare your intention to bond and then you have the honeymoon. You time it so the honeymoon coincides with the Omega’s heat. All goes well, a year’s time brings a baby.”

 

Steve looked down. “Oh,” he said.

 

“I guess we don’t _have_ to,” Bucky added. “And since we’re on the run – not like we _can_ publicly declare our intention to bond.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Guess not.”

 

A baby?

 

“Do you want kids?” Steve asked.

 

“If you want them,” Bucky said evasively. “Though… It happens whether you want them or not, doesn’t it?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I’m… I’m not really sure I could have any.”

 

“Why not?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve fidgetted. “Courtesans’ guild,” he said. “Children weren’t in the cards for me, y’know?”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said. Steve chanced a glance at him, but the Alpha was just looking ahead with a frown. Steve looked down.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Bucky said quickly, squeezing his shoulder and lightly shaking him. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Steve let Bucky squeeze him and didn’t have an answer.

 

Barrenness was always a big deal, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what witches cursed every Omega with? Wasn’t that why consorts were beheaded and concubines were looked down on? That was what Steve had joined the Red Rooms for, to become a concubine to some rich fool; instead, he’d gotten tossed into a second-rate brothel with a madam that dragged him around by the ear every time he tried standing up for the right thing and a landlord that never came to his defense. Once he was there, he was stuck. What good was a barren Omega?

 

Now, Bucky, not being a mind reader, couldn’t tell Steve had these thoughts. He kept his arm tight around his shoulders and tugged on the reins to take Patchouli around a bend in the road and Steve was left wondering how he could take the news that he was barren so easily. Steve had had four Alphas consider offering to buy him from the brothel before and all had decided against it when Steve told them he couldn’t have children.

 

Not that Steve was going to _argue_ with Bucky about it. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“Anyway, seven gifts,” Bucky continued, “it’s supposed to take seven months.”

 

“Seven months!” Steve gasped.

 

“Supposed to,” Bucky said. “A gift a month, they’re meant to prove I can provide for you and all, but I’ve already saved your ass plenty of times –”

 

“I think it only counts as one time because they’re in the same series of saving,” Steve said.

 

Bucky shot him a look. “My point,” he drawled, “is that the gifts are proof I can provide for you to your _family._ ”

 

“My family’s in Wakanda,” Steve said.

 

Bucky shrugged. “So I’ll just give you your first gift and then you can tell me when you’re ready for the next one.”

 

“Why can’t you give them all to me at once?” Steve asked.

 

“‘Cause they’ve got meaning,” Bucky said. “The first few are supposed to represent my ability to care for you.”

 

“Okay?” Steve answered. “In what capacity?”

 

“Food, lodging, that stuff,” Bucky told him, glancing down. “That I can provide for you.”

 

“Can the rabbit from the other day count?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky smiled and his cheeks pinkened. “No,” he said, “it’s gotta be after I announce my intention to court you.”

 

“Announce your intention to court me,” Steve grumbled. “You came up to me while a wolf and started growling _mine._ ”

 

“That was the wolf, Steve!” Bucky groaned. “Wolves don’t understand courting!”

 

“Think I liked the wolf better,” Steve declared. “He didn’t have a problem licking his balls around me.”

 

Bucky turned red. “I didn’t –”

 

“You did!” Steve insisted, now laughing. “And your wolf dick? Bigger than your human dick.”

 

Bucky went even redder and mumbled something under his breath. Steve heard half of it and laughed even harder.

 

“Sure, Buck,” Steve snorted, “it’d be bigger fully hard.”

 

“Let’s not discuss my dick?” Bucky suggested.

 

“We could discuss mine,” Steve purred.

 

“Let’s not discuss any dicks,” Bucky corrected. “Unless they’re the metaphorical kind.”

 

“Though, I don’t think your wolf dick would be as thick as your human dick,” Steve mused.

 

“Gods save me,” Bucky muttered.

 

“You’re gonna put that thing _in_ me,” Steve blurted, frowning. “I mean – Wolf dick or no, it’s huge!”

 

“Can we change the subject?” Bucky asked with a nervous laugh.

 

“How long are you gonna wait to fuck me?” Steve demanded, shifting to face him. “Because I feel like I’ll need to _train_ –”

 

“Not until we bond!” Bucky laughed. “That’s how courting works, Steve!”

 

“Really?” Steve asked, then scowled. “So I have to say I’m willing to tie my life to yours before you’ll have sex with me.”

 

“Well,” Bucky muttered, not looking him in the eye, “kinda the point of the wedding…”

 

“But we won’t have a wedding,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows. “Remember? On the run?”

 

Bucky made a non-committal noise. “We can find a church on the road, make something up, get married then.”

 

“I’m not getting married as a woman,” Steve said firmly.

 

“We could go out of disguise for the day,” Bucky offered.

 

“No, we couldn’t,” Steve said. “Male Omegas and Alphas aren’t allowed to marry.”

 

Bucky frowned at him. “Since when?”

 

“Since forever!” Steve insisted. “Since the old gods were replaced by the Cretan gods, they made it so only Alphas could marry Omegas and they had to be different sexes.”

 

“Dammit,” Bucky muttered.

 

“What if I’m fine with sex before we bond?” Steve demanded. “What if that’s what I want? What if I don’t ever _want_ to bond at all?”

 

Bucky let out a long sigh. “We wouldn’t have to,” he agreed finally. “It’s yours when you want it. But – But we’re going to wait until I’ve given you your seventh gift.”

 

“Why?” Steve asked.

 

“Because you deserve that kind of respect,” Bucky said, looking at him seriously. “So you know, I’m not claiming you just for sex or to have children or anything, because I’ll love you and want to devote my life to you.”

 

Steve blinked. “Oh,” he said. Then fell back from where he’d risen up on his knees. “Oh,” he said again.

 

Bucky reached over and touched his cheek gently. “Remember what you told me about deserving love and happiness despite what had happened to me?” he said in a soft tone. “You deserve the same.”

 

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Steve mumbled.

 

“I don’t need to,” Bucky answered. “I know that you’re kind, that you’re gentle, that you’re brave and you believe in doing the right thing even if it’s hard. You’re a good man.”

 

Steve tipped his head to the side, considering him. “Nobody really considers male Omegas men,” he said quietly.

 

“Another backwards thought forced on you by the Cretans,” Bucky said firmly. “You said it yourself, you’re not a woman and you’re sure as hell not a boy.”

 

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m a girl-boy.”

 

Bucky abruptly bared his teeth with a wordless snarl and Steve recoiled. “Calm down!” he snapped, shoving at his shoulder. “It’s not –”

 

“It is,” Bucky snapped. “Whatever you think it’s not, it is. Omegas aren’t just their wombs and you’re not just a girl with a dick, Steve. For one thing, it’s degrading to say that being able to bear children makes you weak and it’s degrading to say that women are inherently weaker than men. You’re better than that, Steve.”

 

Steve blinked at him. “I don’t mean those things,” Steve muttered.

 

“It’s what the word means,” Bucky answered darkly. “And it’s what the people who use it seriously mean.”

 

“I –” Steve said, then stopped. He’d grown up calling _himself_ a girl-boy, but he never thought hard about what it meant. “Everyone says it,” he said slowly.

 

“You’re not a girl with a penis,” Bucky said firmly. “You’re a man, Steve, as much as I am.”

 

“But you’re an Alpha,” Steve said dumbly.

 

“And Alphas are the only real men?” Bucky asked him. “Weren’t you the one defending that Beta boy for being more of a man than the Cretan Alpha soldiers?”

 

Steve fell silent, blinking.

 

“You can’t claim that Beta men are equal to Alpha men but think that Omega men aren’t,” Bucky insisted. “It validates half of the Cretan argument and through that, invalidates your argument against theirs.”

 

“I never thought about that,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky took a second to answer.

 

“Sometimes,” he said softly, “the things closest to us are the things hardest to see.”

 

“I always heard _girl-boy,_ ” Steve continued to say quietly. “From others, from ourselves.”

 

“And others always put you down, didn’t they?” Bucky demanded. “Maybe I don’t know all the modern customs, but I know that nobody treats Omega men with respect anymore. You’re treated like dogs.”

 

“Bitches,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky deflated. “Which you’re not,” he said, sighing heavily. “Your value isn’t in your ability to have children, Steve. No dam’s value lies there.”

 

“I know –” Steve said, then stopped. “I knew… No woman’s…”

 

“The same thing,” Bucky said gently. “You can’t claim half of the Cretans’ viewpoint is wrong and agree with the other half without invalidating yourself.”

 

Steve fell silent. Bucky didn’t push him and Steve tried to fathom how he hadn’t ever seen that. He was right; he’d had been giving a double standard for himself and other male Omegas his whole life thanks to the teachings of the Cretans, had rejected all their views except this one.

 

“I didn’t realize,” he muttered a minute later.

 

“Like I said,” Bucky muttered, “things hardest to see are the ones right under your nose.”

 

Steve didn’t answer. He prodded Bucky in the side and Bucky lifted his arm to drape it over Steve’s shoulders automatically. Steve stuck his hands under his legs, then pressed his head into Bucky’s shoulder and dropped his eyelids.

 

“Was it really that different before the war?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Omega men were like witches when I was growing up,” Bucky said with his gaze on the road. “Rare, but loved. They were a blessing, a sign of favor from the gods.”

 

Steve let out a quiet sigh. “I would’ve liked to be a blessing.”

 

Bucky kissed his headscarf. “You are,” he said. “You’re a blessing to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ayyy these guys ain't so dumb as other steves and buckys. magic!steve and werewolf!bucky ought to give kitten!steve and one-arm!bucky a lesson on opening up on their feelings. see y'all tomorrow!_


	9. THE CITY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _friday night! what am i doing? excitedly waiting for my pizza to arrive._

#  _[THE CITY]_

  


“I know, he’s being ridiculously charming on purpose,” Steve remarked to the horse. Bucky rolled his eyes. “Something about proving that he wants to care for me or something.”

 

Patchouli whinnied and Bucky fancied that his horse was defending him.

 

“You’d think he’d realize that,” Steve laughed. “But then again, Alphas aren’t known for their brain power.”

 

“Hey!” Bucky protested.

 

“Shh,” Steve called over his shoulder. “Do you speak horse? No, so shush.”

 

Patchouli brayed loudly. Bucky shut his mouth with a snap. He was mildly offended.

 

“Anyway, he’s getting me seven gifts,” Steve kept chatting with their horse. He was kneeling on the floor of the cab, his elbows hanging over the front as he talked to Patchouli. Bucky’s enchanted cloak pooled on the wooden floorboards around him, hiding the dull red color of his dress, but his boots stuck out, and Steve was tapping the toe of one along to the clop of Patchouli’s hooves. “Something about courting traditions when he was a kid a thousand years ago.”

 

“Ninety,” Bucky said dryly.

 

Steve shushed him again. Bucky rolled his eyes and blew a strand of hair from his face.

 

“I mean, I appreciate it,” Steve went on, “it’s sweet, it’s just not necessary.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Shh!” Steve said a third time.

 

Bucky reached forward and grabbed the back of Steve’s clothes. Steve yelped as Bucky picked him up and put him back on the bench next to him, then blinked at nothing when Bucky wrapped an arm around him.

 

“You shush,” Bucky said. “It is necessary that you understand I don’t mean any of this lightly.”

 

“You’ve said that,” Steve replied.

 

“Yes, but do you believe me?” Bucky asked, looking at him. Steve blinked. “No, so shush.”

 

“I know you mean it,” Steve mumbled. “I trust you.”

 

Bucky sighed heavily. “You trust too easily, Steve.”

 

“Are you saying I _shouldn’t?_ ” Steve questioned, prodding him in the ribs.

 

“I’m saying you deserve the basic respect any suitor should have for an Omega,” Bucky insisted. “And I want to give it to you.”

 

“I know,” Steve said. “But I want you to know that I don’t need _gifts_ to believe you really want to be with me.”

 

Bucky shot him a look. “What do you think I mean by gifts? I’m not gonna give you flowers and candy, Steve.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Gifts, they’re gifts.”

 

Bucky shook his head slowly. “You’ll see,” he said. “The next town’s not far off.”

 

Steve settled into his side with a soft sigh, then reached up and fiddled with his headscarf. “I need a haircut,” he said. “And a real bath.”

 

“All in due time, kid,” Bucky said, snapping the reins.

 

“How due?” Steve grumbled. “Is my first gift gonna be a haircut?”

 

“No, but I can trim it for you.”

 

Steve huffed. “No thanks,” he said. “I’d rather have it awkwardly long than risk whatever you might do to it.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bucky said.

 

Patchouli whinnied. Steve laughed and Bucky sighed again.

 

“I don’t even want to know,” he said.

 

“You don’t,” Steve sniggered.

 

They cleared a curve in the road and the gates of Hel’s Kitchen rose into view. Bucky eyed them and figured that to call it a town was an insult. Like much of Yorke, Hel’s Kitchen had gotten bigger and badder since he was a boy. There would be more soldiers, but on the upside, there would be more people, so as long as he and Steve kept their heads down, they’d slip by unnoticed.

 

Bucky hastily ducked his head into Steve’s neck and rubbed his nose over his scent gland. Steve giggled and shoved him off, but Bucky caught him and transferred the reins to clenching them between his knees so he could use his right hand to rub his wrist over Steve’s dress.

 

“What are you doing?” Steve snorted, squirming against his side.

 

“Scent-marking you,” Bucky said, “duh.”

 

“Duh,” Steve echoed, “but why?”

 

“So I look all possessive,” Bucky told him. “And so you’ll smell like me when we get to the gates.”

 

“I already smell like you,” Steve answered, “you sleep in the same tent as me.”

 

Bucky didn’t blush at that anymore, but it still elicited a light thrill deep in his chest; sure, he and Steve slept on different bedrolls and on different sides of the tent, but simply the fact that Steve picked up Bucky’s scent in their sleep made him want to purr.

 

So he ducked his head back into Steve’s neck and did just that. Steve giggled again as Bucky rubbed his jaw against his neck, then pushed at him weakly.

 

“I stink, alright, get off,” he laughed. “The only way you could make me stink more like you is if you rubbed your dick all over me.”

 

Bucky blushed at that. He stopped scenting Steve’s neck and sat upright, snatching the reins and snapping them. Steve laughed at him again.

 

“Dumb Alphas,” Steve commented, reaching up and ruffling Bucky’s hair. Bucky waved him off with vague protests. “Don’t give me that look, you’re the one that starts purring whenever you notice I reek of you.”

 

“Is it so bad that I like it when you smell like me?” Bucky asked primly. “You’re my sweetheart!”

 

Steve started cackling. He fell backwards on the bench and threw his boots over Bucky’s lap as he clutched his stomach and laughed.

 

“Sweetheart!” he wheezed. “Gods, that’s the stupidest line I’ve ever heard, motherfucker.”

 

“Well, what do people say these days?” Bucky asked dumbly. “We always said sweetheart!”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said, wheezing still. “But not sweetheart.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s what I’m calling you.”

 

“I’ve just been calling you my potential mate,” Steve laughed.

 

“You don’t even know if you want to bond!” Bucky protested, blushing.

 

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t be my mate,” Steve said, sitting up and punching him in the arm. “You’d still be my Alpha.”

 

Bucky repressed the shudder he got at Steve calling him his Alpha and shrugged. “You can call me whatever you want to,” he said.

 

“Whatever?” Steve asked, his eyes glittering.

 

“Whatever,” Bucky said.

 

“What about…” Steve started, tapping his chin. “Doll?”

 

Bucky shot him a glance. “Ha, ha,” he said dryly.

 

“Doll!” Steve laughed. He reached up and half pinched Bucky’s chin. “I’ll call you doll, love.”

 

“You already call me _love,_ ” Bucky pointed out. “And I like that just fine.”

 

“Do you?” Steve asked, smirking and his eyes still glinting. Bucky found it very easy to believe that the Omega had fae blood in him with that impish look on his face. “I’ll bet.”

 

Steve shifted onto his knees and leaned on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll bet you quite like it when I call you love,” he murmured.

 

“It’s sweet,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Is it?” Steve asked, tipping his head to the side and leaning in closer. “Or do you just like it because it makes you think of what lovers do?”

 

“Love each other?” Bucky suggested, his ears going hot.

 

Steve’s face was right in the corner of his eye, his lips still curled in a smirk. “Sure,” he said, sounding very much like he didn’t mean it.

 

Bucky cleared his throat. Steve laughed at him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek, falling back on the bench to lean on him.

 

There was a caravan waiting outside the gates to be let in. Bucky pulled Patchouli to a walk, then a full stop a few yards behind a covered wagon. Music came from inside, the shadows of women with guitars and tambourines, and as Patchouli stopped behind the wagon, a couple of young children jumped out of the back of it, yelling and laughing, to chase each other around the wagon’s perimeter. Bucky felt his lip curl watching them, then laughed when one of the women leaned out of the wagon and picked up both children by their clothes when they completed a circuit of the wagon.

 

“You’ll be an uncle,” Steve said abruptly.

 

Bucky glanced down at him. “I will?”

 

Steve nodded, watching the woman hauling her children into the shade of the wagon bed with a slight smile. “The family that took me in, they’ve got lots of children, lots of grandbabies, too.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, looking up. “Really?”

 

“Mhmm,” Steve answered. “Mammi and Pa Wilson, they had nine daughters.”

 

“Nine!” Bucky gasped in shock. “I don’t envy Pa,” he added in a mutter.

 

“Nine daughters, three sons,” Steve added. “Then there was me. If I weren’t so pale, you’d never know I was adopted. Mammi was so mad when I joined the Red Room, but they never held it against me. They still cared for me.”

 

Bucky was quiet, nodding slowly as Steve spoke. The wagon in front of them began to move and Bucky picked up Patchouli’s reins, clicking his tongue.

 

“Anyway, last I heard, six of the girls were married,” Steve went on. “And the older son was, too. Every one of ‘em had at least two kids and Azaliah, one of the other girls, got a baby, too. Her boy’ll be three by now.”

 

“What are they gonna say when you show up with me?” Bucky asked suddenly.

 

Steve laughed. Bucky glanced at him, worried, and Steve reached up to tweak his cheek. “They’ll be happy for us, nimwit,” he promised. “Especially if you carry on with this courting thing and we don’t even lie together before we get there,” Steve said with raised eyebrows and a barely concealed smirk.

 

Bucky opened his mouth and shut it again. Steve laughed again, then kissed his cheek. Bucky, blushing, pulled on Patchouli’s reins.

 

“What is my first gift, anyway?” Steve asked in a mutter.

 

Bucky cleared his throat. “You’ll see,” he answered.

 

Steve huffed, nudged his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder, then settled against his arm and let out a content sigh. Bucky smiled a little at nothing and leaned down to kiss Steve’s headscarf briefly. He caught sight of Steve’s lips curling in a smile and looked up before his mind could wander down wonderings of what those lips might taste like.

 

The line waiting to enter the city moved again. As Bucky whistled to Patchouli, a teenage girl appeared from the shadows of the covered wagon in front of them. She leaned on the railing and smiled in their direction, waving. Bucky offered her a smile in return and Steve waved back. An older woman came up behind her and said something to the girl in another language; Rromani, Bucky guessed. The nomadic people wandered Cadör ever since their homeland had been destroyed. They’d been an outcast people even when Bucky was a boy. The Eastmarch had once been their home, until it had been struck by famine some hundred years before Bucky’s birth; the people had been uprooted, homeless ever since. Some said the Rromani were cursed.

 

“I heard that the people of Yorke used to speak a different language,” Steve mused out of nowhere. “Not English.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “We spoke Gaelic,” he answered.

 

“Does anyone speak that now?” Steve asked, looking up at him.

 

Bucky shook his head again. “English was common when I was young, anyway. Gaelic was already dying.”

 

“You could teach me?” Steve suggested.

 

A third time, Bucky shook his head. “I don’t even remember it,” he admitted.

 

Steve picked up his head. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

 

Bucky gave a shrug. “All on Cadör speak English, only a few corners of Yorke spoke Gaelic. Best leave it to the shamans and witches.”

 

Steve held Bucky’s hand in his lap, the left one, hidden by a glove. He held it in his lap and ran his fingers over the back of his glove, tender and loving. If Bucky had had worries that he wasn’t doing the right thing before, they were gone now. There was no way he could go back after welcoming Steve’s warmth, his tender smiles and touches. The ice that had called his bones home for so long is melting away. In the early September sun, Bucky truly feels _warm._

 

They reached the gate and Bucky held Steve against his side with no less genuine possessiveness as any other time they had been met by Cretan soldiers. They were told to get out of the wagon and Bucky spied the wagon ahead of them turning down a lane. The young girl that had waved at them earlier was being held by one of the older women and was sobbing.

 

Bucky pulled Steve a little closer. The young girl’s crying was too far away for a normal man to hear, but Bucky’s keen ears still picked it up. Three soldiers searched through their things, and a fourth stood near them, arms crossed and face shadowed by his helmet.

 

One of the three jumped down.

 

“We have to search you, as well,” he said.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze back to the disappearing wagon inside the city’s gates. “You can search me, fine,” he agreed. He looked down at the soldier and set his gaze on a respectful but unrepentant anger. “But you’ll not lay a hand on my wife,” Bucky told them.

 

“You don’t have any room to make demands, Smith,” the soldier answered. “Step away from the woman. Spread your feet and arms.”

 

Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulder and stepped away from him. He held out his arms, hands gloved and covered fully by the sleeves of his tunic, and widened his stance. The soldier knelt and patted down his calves, then rose and swept both hands up Bucky’s thighs to his hips. Bucky held still, the soldier patted down his sides, then his arms, and gave him a nod.

 

“Fine,” the soldier said, then turned to Steve. “Same deal, madam.”

 

Bucky moved behind Steve, taking his shoulder. He met the soldier’s gaze and held it firmly. Steve reluctantly held out his arms to his sides.

 

“Feet,” the soldier snapped.

 

“What do you need her to do that for?” Bucky asked sharply.

 

The soldier bared his teeth in a leer. The upper half of his face was covered by the guard of his helmet, leaving only his yellowed and blackened teeth and his pockmarked chin and cheeks.

 

“‘Cause I said so,” the soldier answered him in a tone so honeyed it made the hairs stand up on the back of Bucky’s neck. “You got a problem, Smith?”

 

The other two soldiers jumped down from their wagon, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords. The fourth man, their captain, looked in their direction with an unconcerned disinterest. And then he looked away.

 

Steve glanced up at Bucky and lifted the inner corners of his eyebrows. He grimaced slightly and dropped his eyebrows again. Bucky clenched his jaw, then glanced away and shook his head. He clenched his jaw, then shot the soldier a look and nodded.

 

The soldier knelt, and, much like he’d done to Bucky, he patted down each of Steve’s calves. The difference was that the soldier had to reach under Steve’s skirt to do it, and he continued past the knee. Bucky gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t stop it. Steve bit his lip, shutting his eyes as the soldier withdrew his hands from under his skirt, then grabbed Steve’s hips and felt up his sides.

 

Bucky jolted, almost reaching for his sword, as the soldier grabbed Steve’s ass, and the other two soldiers guffawed. Steve stumbled backward into Bucky, who caught him and swept him away while the soldiers carried on with their laughter.

 

“Go on!” the soldier who’d groped Steve laughed. “Nothin’ there to feel, anyway!”

 

Bucky bit his tongue instead of throwing some choice insults their way. Steve started crying, tears and trembling and all, and Bucky swung him into the cab of the cart feeling like the world’s worst Alpha.

 

“You’ll pay for that,” he called over his shoulder to the soldiers. “You’ll never get away with this!”

 

“Try us!” one of the soldiers called.

 

Bucky, disgusted, took up Patchouli’s reins and pulled Steve tightly into his side, whistling to get the horse moving.

 

Steve hid his face in Bucky’s chest and sobbed. Bucky kissed his headscarf, wondering what the hell he could say to comfort him.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured anyway. “I should’ve – I couldn’t – I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart –”

 

“Shut up, I’m fine,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky glanced down at him as they passed the gates, and Steve was already sitting up, calmly wiping his cheeks.

 

“You –” Bucky said. “You’re not fine.”

 

“Yes, I am,” Steve said, not a hint of a tremor in his voice. He looked up at Bucky and blinked calmly. “I figured it would look better if I started bawling, that’s all.”

 

Bucky blinked at him, then had to look up and watch where Patchouli was going. “But –”

 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Steve assured him, “I’ve suffered worse, Buck. I appreciate the concern, though.”

 

Bucky blinked again. “Oh,” he said.

 

Steve patted his knee. “I’m sorry it happened, but there was nothing we could do,” he said calmly. “It happens all the time. I’m used to it by now.”

 

Bucky thought about the covered wagon that had been ahead of them and the girl he’d seen crying. She’d been, what, fourteen? Fifteen, at the most?

 

“How often does that happen?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

Steve looked up at him. His eyes saddened then. “You don’t mean me,” he stated.

 

Bucky shook his head. “God, this nation is disgusting,” he whispered. His eyes caught on the banners bearing the fist of Cretus and never did he wish to see heraldry burn more than he did in that moment.

 

“There’s nothing we can do,” Steve said.

 

Bucky swept his gaze across the busy road, Patchouli making her way through the crowds and the shine of Cretan steel as soldiers milled through the citizens.

 

“How mad would you be if I left you in Wakanda for a while?” Bucky asked quietly.

 

“Uh, super pissed,” Steve said, sitting up straighter. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Maybe I could organize a revolution,” Bucky muttered. “Maybe there’s something I could do.”

 

Steve was quiet a second. Bucky glanced at him, then back to the road.

 

“Maybe,” Steve said softly. “But, not on your own.”

 

Bucky shot him another glance. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Wakanda’s a land of power,” Steve pointed out. “Maybe they could…”

 

Bucky shifted his gaze back to the road. “Maybe,” he said.

 

He followed the wagons to the edge of the city, where the nomads were pitching tents and already building fires. Bucky found an empty patch of grass, hopped down from the cab, put blocks at the wheels of the wagon before unhitching Patchouli and tying her to the wagon by a lead, then moved back to help Steve down. Steve took his shoulders and Bucky held his waist, swung him down and set him on his feet in the slightly mushy grass.

 

“I’ll load up on supplies,” Bucky told him, letting go to get the tent out of the wagon. “Will you be alright on your own?”

 

“I want to come,” Steve said. Bucky shot him a glance, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Please? It’s been forever since I had a proper conversation with someone that wasn’t a horse.”

 

“What about me?” Bucky asked, offended.

 

Steve gave him a pitying look. “Doll, you’re nice and all, but you don’t make stimulating conversation.”

 

Bucky gasped. “I’m hurt,” he said, stepping away to set up the tent.

 

Steve laughed and caught Bucky’s elbow as he passed. Bucky pulled back at his tugging and Steve lifted up onto his toes, a grin on his face and his eyes shutting.

 

Steve touched their lips together and Bucky forgot what he was doing. He put a hand at Steve’s waist and returned the kiss gladly. Steve’s lips parted and Bucky took the invitation, tipping his head to the side to lick into Steve’s mouth and drink up his sweet taste. Steve’s mouth tasted like dried apples and apricots and Bucky had never enjoyed a more delicious meal.

 

Steve broke the kiss and Bucky hung there, touching their foreheads together, his breathing hard and his heart pounding.

 

“You sure don’t kiss like a virgin,” Steve murmured.

 

“How many times I gotta tell you?” Bucky asked him softly, lifting a brow.

 

Steve giggled, his grin was gorgeous, and he reached up to fiddle with the collar of Bucky’s leather vest for a second before pulling back, his hands clasping in front of his apron. Bucky leaned the bundled up tent against the side of the wagon, then stepped back into Steve’s space and took him by the waist. He touched their foreheads together, bumping his nose against Steve’s. Steve set his hands back on Bucky’s chest and Bucky inhaled Steve’s wonderful cinnamon scent.

 

“Are you gonna kiss me again or what?” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky smiled a little, then pressed their lips together again. Steve’s mouth opened and Bucky probed into it a little slower, relishing Steve’s sweet taste and taking his time in doing so. Steve’s hands curled around the straps on Bucky’s leather vest, holding onto him, and Bucky let his hands sweep around to the small of Steve’s back to pull him a little closer. Steve moved, then lifted onto his toes again and his hands circled Bucky’s neck instead. Bucky slanted his mouth on Steve’s, chasing the taste of the dried fruit to see what Steve tasted like underneath.

 

Someone cleared their throat nearby, reminding them that they weren’t alone and Bucky pulled back quickly, his cheeks flaming. Steve gave an absent hum and dropped his cheek onto Bucky’s vest, nuzzling him lightly. Bucky let his cheek come to rest on Steve’s headscarf instead.

 

“We should get moving,” Bucky mumbled.

 

Steve hummed again vaguely. Bucky dropped a kiss onto his scarf, then carefully pushed Steve back by his shoulders. Steve blinked at him.

 

“Supplies,” Bucky said.

 

“Supplies,” Steve agreed.

 

“And your first gift,” Bucky added.

 

Steve smiled, rolling his eyes. Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek and gave him another quick kiss, unable to stop now that he’d started, and pulled back to set up the tent. He fumbled once or twice and Steve giggled from his spot by the wagon, but in a few minutes, it was standing and waiting. Bucky pulled their bedrolls from the wagon and tossed them inside, then kicked the crate full of Steve’s clothes and his weapons further into the wagon’s bed to grab an empty basket. He hopped down, cracked his neck, then offered his arm to Steve.

 

Steve curled his hand around Bucky’s elbow and stuffed the other in a pocket of his apron. Bucky walked him through the sea of tents and wagons into the outskirts of the city, then deeper until they reached the market. The market was full, the sun dipping from its zenith and the city coming out from its labors to stock up on the necessary wares. There were shops, yes, but mostly stalls, stands, and carts with merchants and vendors that shouted to advertise their products’ superiority over others.

 

Bucky needed to buy food and Steve’s first gift. The food was simple; more dried meats and fruits, and perhaps some rice or potatoes. The gift?

 

Well, he’d have to figure that out.

 

Steve stayed close to his side as Bucky loaded up the basket with supplies, and for the most part was quiet. He’d whisper something to Bucky on occasion, but didn’t speak with anyone else. Bucky was starting to understand more fully what the Cretans had done to Omega freedom, as nobody spoke to Steve either. More than once, a merchant asked Bucky something concerning the Omega at his side that they simply could have asked Steve and acted like they expected Bucky to answer.

 

At least, the other men in the market never spoke to Steve. When they passed a stall selling dolls and little sewn things, the Omega woman selling them spoke with Steve briefly. Bucky hadn’t seen any other Omegas selling things on their own in the whole market, but the woman was very old and likely widowed, which explained why she was alone. While they were there, Bucky bought one of the round pillows she was selling and set it in the basket.

 

“Is that my gift?” Steve asked him as they left.

 

“Well, no,” Bucky said. “That’s not the right sort of thing for a first gift.”

 

Steve huffed. “What are you even looking for?”

 

Bucky shrugged. He only had a vague idea.

 

The gift had to be something that would compliment Steve’s craft. Which, Bucky had realized belatedly, was technically sex. Steve was a classically trained courtesan, but Bucky couldn’t buy him anything that would compliment that craft. For one thing, no one in this market would be selling anything like that, for another, it would be wildly inappropriate. Maybe for a _wedding_ gift, he could buy Steve something sexual. But he still doubted he’d be able to find anything outside of the black market and he was banned from most black markets in the country. Hel’s Kitchen was, unfortunately, one of the black market’s he’d been banned from. It was disappointing and entirely not his fault, how was he supposed to have known that the old woman selling nightshade was really an Eldritch horror and would start killing every living plant in the market in anger when he accused her of selling weak poisons?

 

At any rate, Bucky was sure that the black market in Hel’s Kitchen had also been cleared out, as that had been fifteen years ago and the Cretans had doubled down on illegal goods since then.

 

With Steve’s actual craft ruled out as inspiration, Bucky was left sort of flailing. He could get Steve something stereotypically traditional for Omegas, like a sewing kit or a book on herbs, but that would be a substandard gesture on his part and Bucky was not going to offer Steve something substandard. He could buy something that could inspire a _new_ craft, perhaps teach Steve hunting or field medicine, but that would require finding where he could buy such things and medicine and weaponry were restricted subjects in Cretan territories.

 

Other than that, Bucky wasn’t sure what he could teach Steve. Murder wasn’t really something one offered to teach one’s potential mate.

 

Steve, Bucky could tell, was getting tired as the sun crept farther down the sky as he began leaning on him more than usual. Bucky had to find something that would follow the traditional first gift quickly. Only _then,_ did he spot the old man, almost hidden in the shadows, selling odd trinkets.

 

“Hello, hello, hello,” the old man greeted them. Bucky supposed the man was actually older than _him,_ which boded well for him. “What art thou looking for, boy?”

 

“I’ll let you know when I find it,” Bucky answered.

 

The old man nodded, then nodded to Steve as well and offered a warm smile. Steve smiled back, but as Bucky walked him a little further down the stand, Steve tugged on his arm.

 

“He’s not human,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Steve raised his back.

 

“What is he?” Bucky asked, picking up a small wooden dog.

 

Steve shrugged. Bucky flicked his gaze back to the old man, who continued to smile pleasantly at the market in general, then kept walking. Bucky didn’t mind if the old man was inhuman, as long as he got the contracts right. If the old man was faekind, then buying something from him would be risky only if he neglected to confirm that he was _buying_ the object rather than borrowing it. If the old man was of godly origins, there would be no concern. If the old man was demonic, Bucky would just have to be careful to buy the object with coin and not his soul. He’d dealt with plenty of inhumans.

 

“You’re not worried?” Steve hissed.

 

Bucky shook his head. He picked up a wide, flat crystal, smooth as though beaten by river waters, then held it up to the light. He took Steve’s palm and set the crystal in it.

 

Steve sucked in a breath and pushed it back at him. Bucky simply took it, then took Steve’s elbow and walked him back to the old man. The crystal held some kind of magic, obviously, which would nicely compliment Steve’s craft as a magician.

 

“How much for this?” Bucky asked.

 

The old man smiled then, showing rows of pointed teeth, and Bucky spotted him as a vampire. Probably wearing some sort of glamor, but Bucky could see through glamors of most kinds.

 

“Tha’ old thing?” the vampire asked, laughing softly before it turned into a wracking cough.

 

Bucky just waited.

 

“Thou donnae look like the kind to need a paperweight,” the vampire said eventually.

 

“My Omega said it looked pretty,” Bucky answered with a shrug.

 

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. Bucky stared him down evenly. Steve shifted to press a little closer to him.

 

“Looks more than pretty,” the vampire mused. “What art thee?”

 

“Growing impatient,” Bucky answered. He held up the crystal. “How much?”

 

The vampire’s eyes flicked to Steve and he bared his teeth. “Witch,” he hissed.

 

Steve stiffened, but the vampire only laughed softly again.

 

“I knew thou sniffed me,” the vampire said, shifting in his seat to pull a long, two-bladed dagger from under his cloak. “The mortals cannae see past my glamors, worry thy pretty head nae. What’s thine Alpha, boy?”

 

“An Alpha,” Steve said.

 

The vampire flicked the dagger. Bucky raised his eyebrows in offense as the vampire’s dagger swept the crystal from his hand and nicked his palm in the process.

 

“Hmph,” the vampire huffed. “No wolf nor fair folk.”

 

Bucky did not react. He supposed the two blades were pure iron and silver respectively, which was very clever and he honestly wanted one like it. But due to his enchanted silver arm, he did not react to silver the way other werewolves did. It was very convenient.

 

“I just want to buy the crystal,” he said. “I can take my business elsewhere.”

 

“Then thee want to know what it do,” the vampire said, baring his sharp teeth once again. He put the blade away and held the crystal in his gnarled hands, raising it to the light. “Look, boy.”

 

“No, thanks,” Steve said.

 

“Be it for thee or nae?” the vampire asked him. “Look.”

 

Steve reluctantly leaned forward to peer into the crystal.

 

“What dost thou see?” the vampire asked.

 

“Blood,” Steve answered.

 

“Ha!” the vampire retorted. He pushed the crystal into Steve’s hand. “Look now. What dost thou see?”

 

Steve held the crystal in his hands and furrowed his brow as he looked deeply into it. “A man,” he said then.

 

“It be a mirror,” the vampire told him. “It shows thee what the holder most wishes.”

 

Bucky looked into the crystal, but still just saw the refracted light and Steve’s palms. Then again, he wasn’t a witch. He wondered what man Steve had seen. (And hoped a little bit that it had been _him._ )

 

“It reflects honesty and lies,” the vampire continues. “A very valuable trinket.”

 

“How much?” Bucky asked again.

 

The vampire narrowed his eyes. “Its weight in gold.”

 

“Bucky, no –” Steve hissed as Bucky pulled out his coin purse.

 

The vampire cackled again and pulled out a set of scales. Bucky took the crystal from Steve and set it in one basin, then started dropping coins into the other until the scales balanced.

 

“Well bought,” the vampire said, scooping the gold up. Bucky took the crystal and tucked it into his vest. “But I ask once more. What art thee?”

 

“Nothing,” Bucky told him, taking Steve’s elbow.

 

“Nothing,” the vampire hissed, grinning again. “Then I advise thee, look at my trinkets again. Thou might see something useful to thee.”

 

Bucky looked over the man’s cart. He looked past the wooden toys and trinkets, wondering if the vampire had some new weapon to sell.

 

“The glamor’s over the whole cart?” Bucky said, gesturing.

 

“Aye,” the vampire said, still grinning. “Thou wouldnae be nothing if thee couldst see.”

 

Bucky gave a nod. He pulled on Steve’s elbow and bent to look into the cart’s depths. “What have you got, then? Poisons? Scrolls?”

 

“Thou art a hunter,” the vampire decided. Bucky glanced up and raised his eyebrows, but the vampire only sniggered. “Dost thou hunt fair folk or bloodsuckers or monsters?” he asked.

 

“Men,” Bucky said.

 

The vampire grinned wider. “The only noble sport,” he answered gleefully. “A manhunter and a witch,” he mused with a wet, rattling chuckle, “ye make a fine pair.” The vampire leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands together, looking at Bucky like a ripe meal landed in his lap.” If thee have enough,” he said, “I can sell thee the glamor I use.”

 

Bucky straightened up curiously. “Would you sell us a scroll or a spellbook?” he asked.

 

“A spellbook,” the vampire answered.

 

Bucky stepped nearer. “What does it cost?” he pushed.

 

“A hunt,” the vampire said, his teeth still bared. “There be a man I wish dead.”

 

“What else is in the spellbook?” Bucky countered.

 

The vampire shifted to one side, then reached into the cart’s underbelly and tugged out a thick, but small leather tome. He opened it and held it up for Bucky to see.

 

“Twenty spells,” the vampire said. “Ten rituals, fifteen wards, and eighteen potions.”

 

“Must be some guy if you’re willing to pay with this,” Bucky remarked, reaching out to touch the book.

 

The vampire jerked it back. “It be locked by blood, boy,” he warned.

 

“What’ll it take to transfer the lock to my Omega?” Bucky asked.

 

The vampire lifted a thumb to his mouth and pricked it, then smeared the nearly black blood over the front page of the book, muttering words. The blood sank into the page and vanished.

 

“His blood,” the vampire said. “A drop, no more.”

 

“Alright, what’s the hunt?” Bucky asked.

 

“Let me have the crystal for a moment,” the vampire said, holding out his hand.

 

“Swear you’ll give it back,” Bucky answered dryly.

 

The vampire chuckled. “I swear on my life.”

 

“And I’ll happily take it if you break that oath,” Bucky said pleasantly, putting the crystal in his hand.

 

The vampire held it up and muttered more words. The visage of a man became visible in the crystal’s depths.

 

“He be the Commander of the city,” the vampire told Bucky. “Firminus Thrasea.”

 

“Where does he live?” Bucky asked, memorizing Thrasea’s profile.

 

The vampire muttered more words and a house appeared. “In the city center. The house once be mine before the Fist of Cretus shook.”

 

“You care how I kill him?” Bucky asked.

 

The vampire gave a low chuckle. “Thou donnae care why I want the vermin dead?”

 

“He’s Cretan, that’s enough for me,” Bucky said. “How do you want him to die?”

 

“Professional,” the vampire accused him softly. “Bleed him. Bring it back to me and I give thee a bonus.”

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Bucky said, reaching into a pocket of his belt and pulling out a small sheaf of paper and a stick of charcoal. “I want it in writing, though.”

 

“Professional,” the vampire chuckled again, then broke into harsh coughing, taking a moment to steady himself. “Shall I seal it in blood?” the vampire asked then.

 

“Is there any other way?” Bucky asked, writing on the top piece of paper. “When do you want it done by?”

 

“Dawn?” the vampire suggested.

 

Bucky nodded, writing. “What’s the bonus?”

 

“Another crystal,” the vampire said.

 

Bucky finished, then ripped the top page off and put away the sheaf and charcoal. He set it on an edge of the cart and pulled a knife from his belt, then pricked his thumb. He pressed it to the page, then held it out to the vampire.

 

The vampire read the contract, then bit his thumb again and squeezed a fat drop of thick, black blood onto the page. Bucky guessed he hadn’t fed in months just by the viscosity of his blood.

 

“Well met, hunter,” the vampire told him, handing the contract back. Bucky took it and put it in a pocket. “Well met, boy-witch,” the vampire added, looking at Steve.

 

Bucky held out his hand. The vampire chuckled before placing the crystal in Bucky’s palm, then sat back.

 

“Good luck,” the vampire said.

 

Bucky turned and took Steve’s arm again, walking away without another word.

 

Steve threaded his arm through Bucky’s once they were a good distance away. He didn’t say anything until they had reached the tents and Bucky dropped the basket into the wagon’s bed.

 

“What just happened?” Steve hissed.

 

Bucky looked back at him. “We dealt with a vampire,” he said simply.

 

Steve blinked. “Was that why his desire was blood?” he asked in a mutter.

 

“He hadn’t fed in a while, that’s for sure,” Bucky said, then hopped into the wagon and dug around until he found the crate with his weapons. “I’d like to know what he was using to keep the sun from burning him, ‘cause sittin’ in the shadows ain’t gonna cut it for a vampire that ain’t fed in so long, but ain’t a big deal.”

 

“Wait, Buck –” Steve started.

 

Bucky sat on the edge of the wagon and looked at Steve. “What?” he said.

 

Steve bit his lip. “Are you really going to go kill a Cretan commander?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered simply.

 

“For a book?” Steve questioned.

 

Bucky hopped down from the wagon and walked up to him, taking Steve’s face in his hands. “That spellbook will have more magical knowledge in it than you’ll have ever learned in your whole life,” he said simply.

 

“Is this just to give me gifts?” Steve demanded.

 

“No, the crystal was your gift,” Bucky said. “But the book could be your second. The glamor is what we need, Stevie.”

 

Steve bit at his lip again. “You’ll be careful?” he asked, reaching up and closing his hands over Bucky’s wrists.

 

“I’m a professional,” Bucky reminded him, then kissed him.

 

Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s head and slipped his tongue into his mouth, until Steve pushed him back gently.

 

“Can I come?” Steve asked.

 

“Uh,” Bucky stalled. “No.”

 

Steve scowled. “Why not?”

 

“Well, sweetheart, forgive me for saying but you’re _not_ a professional,” Bucky reminded him.

 

“Don’t you _well, sweetheart_ me!” Steve threatened suddenly. Bucky pulled back a little, eyebrows darting up and his eyes widening. “Do you forget that I can turn the air off with a snap of my fingers?” Steve demanded.

 

Bucky blinked. “I fail to see how that makes you a professional,” he said.

 

Steve gave him a look. “What if you get caught?” he asked.

 

Bucky gave _him_ a look. “That’s the point of being a professional, Steve. I _don’t_ get caught.”

 

“But the soldiers are on high alert over something!” Steve hissed. “Why else would they be feeling up Omegas?”

 

“Because they’re disgusting?” Bucky suggested.

 

Steve tipped his head to the side, thinning his lips and flattening his brow. “Doll, you’re cute and all, but you’re clearly not thinking any deeper as a man than you do as a wolf.”

 

“Rude,” Bucky muttered.

 

“The Cretans have been disgusting the entire time they’ve occupied Yorke,” Steve pointed out. “But they’re _searching_ Omegas at this point, not just leering at them. Do you really think every Cretan soldier up the chain is a pervert?”

 

“Well,” Bucky started.

 

“You need backup,” Steve insisted.

 

“I’ve been doing this for forty years,” Bucky tried to counter.

 

“And now you have backup,” Steve said simply. “What else am I going to do? Sit around and wait for you to come back?”

 

Bucky turned his lips down. “‘S what I thought,” he mumbled.

 

Steve lifted a hand and smacked Bucky on the back of the head. Bucky yelped, then grabbed the back of his head and winced.

 

“I ain’t no house Omega,” Steve told him flatly.

 

“Alright, gods, fine,” Bucky grumbled. “Let the horse keep the empty tent warm.”

 

Patchouli lifted her head and brayed expressively, baring her teeth and spitting on him. Bucky grimaced and blinked a couple of times before wiping his face clean.

 

“I agree,” Steve said.

 

Bucky looked at him with disappointment at the expected but still painful betrayal. “It hurts every time you agree with the horse.”

 

Steve grinned brightly. “I know,” he said and pulled Bucky into a kiss.

 

Bucky very easily believed that Steve had fae in his bloodline, because kissing him was like breathing in absinthe. He felt a swooping in his gut that flew sky high and hit his brain and sent brightly colored lights dancing over the backs of his eyelids; lights that fell to earth and left his hands itching to move. Steve hung off his neck to pull Bucky down to his level and the sweet taste of his lips made Bucky’s mouth water for more. It felt like Bucky had taken too deep a breath and the air had made him dizzy, only it was lasting much longer than a deep breath and kept getting dizzyingly higher.

 

Bucky broke the kiss, breathing a little hard. He leaned his forehead against Steve’s; Steve pressed a palm to his cheek and left his head tipped up, his lips still parted and eyes still shut. Bucky had only drunk absinthe once, but he’d gotten so high he’d been loopy for days. He very easily believed Steve had faekind amongst his ancestors.

 

Steve opened his eyes and grinned at Bucky. “You alright there?” he asked.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve giggled a little. He lifted back up and pressed their lips together again and Bucky let the kiss last a few seconds before he pulled back and drew in a long breath to clear his head.

 

“I gotta breathe, sweetheart,” he told Steve.

 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve asked, blinking his eyes open to beam a grin like he had sunshine in the gaps between his teeth.

 

Bucky pushed Steve back and gave his head a shake. Steve pressed a hand over his mouth, giggling again. Bucky gave him a look, then grabbed his waist again and pulled him in. Steve lifted his chin and Bucky ducked to get to his neck.

 

“Sneak,” Steve accused breathily as Bucky rubbed his nose against his neck.

 

“Mmm,” Bucky answered.

 

He mouthed a little at Steve’s pulse, then nuzzled his cheek and jaw over his neck down to his shoulder. Bucky, with Steve’s absinthe-esque kiss still drugging his blood, was daring enough to nip at his sharp bones under the collar of his dress.

 

“You good down there?” Steve asked.

 

“Yep,” Bucky muttered, lifting his head only to duck around to the other side of his neck. “You?”

 

“A little tempted,” Steve mumbled.

 

A hand touched Bucky’s chest over his clothes and Bucky reluctantly pulled back. Steve pouted.

 

“We should get supper,” Bucky said dumbly.

 

“Boring,” Steve retorted.

 

“Well, we got time to kill until dark,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“I have a much better idea,” Steve said, lifting back onto his toes with a smile.

 

Bucky pressed a hand to Steve’s mouth before he could pull him back into another kiss. “How many gifts you got?”

 

Steve scowled under Bucky’s hand. “One,” he grumbled.

 

“You got six more to go then,” Bucky reminded him with a grin.

 

“How are you so stubborn?” Steve demanded, snatching Bucky’s hand off of his mouth.

 

“A hun’erd and one years’a practice,” Bucky told him, then gave Steve a fast twirl and let him fall on his pretty ass onto a tree stump.

 

Steve blinked at nothing. Bucky planted a kiss on his cheek, then headed for the wagon to get their food.

 

“I feel like something has been pulled over my eyes and I don’t know what it is,” Steve declared.

 

“That’ll be the wooing,” Bucky told him, lifting the basket of new supplies out.

 

“I’m not sure I’m enjoying this,” Steve called.

 

“You’re enjoying it,” Bucky answered, pulling the older baskets out to sort the new supplies into.

 

“Is that what these palpitations are?” Steve asked, dramatically pressing a hand over his heart.

 

Bucky shot him a cheeky grin. “That’s the wooing, sweetheart.”

 

Steve blinked some more. “I feel faint,” he said sarcastically. “Are you gonna catch me if I faint?”

 

“Obviously,” Bucky said, jumping down from the wagon. “And fan you with –”

 

He broke off, looking around. Then he patted his belt until he whipped out a paper fan; he shook it out and held it up.

 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Steve demanded.

 

Bucky looked down, then up. “Pockets,” he said simply.

 

Steve looked at him like one might look at their deranged and long-since a confirmed bachelor uncle who, after drinking far too many glasses of Elvish wine at some cousin’s wedding, had toasted the bride and groom by saying _I wish it were me!_ but failed to specify which position he wished he were in.

 

“Pockets?” Steve echoed dumbly.

 

“Pockets,” Bucky repeated. “Y’know, on my belt.”

 

Steve leaned forward, squinting at Bucky’s midsection. “How many pockets do you have?”

 

Bucky glanced down again. “Thirteen,” he said, looking back up.

 

Steve gawked at his belt. “They look tiny! How did that even fit in there?”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, then walked over and tossed the fan to Steve. Then he reached into one of the pouches on his belt and shoved his arm in all the way to the elbow, which was as far as he could get it in while the belt was still hanging on his hips.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “What,” he said flatly.

 

“It’s enchanted,” Bucky told him. Then he frowned, reaching around. He jerked his arm back out and a frog squirmed in his grip. “When did that get in there?” he muttered, lifting the frog by the leg to squint at it.

 

“Oh, my gods,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky tossed the frog into a bush. “That might have come from the jar of tadpoles,” he told Steve.

 

“Oh, my gods,” Steve said again.

 

Bucky pulled the pouch away from his body and reached in it again, squeezing one eye shut and grimacing as he groped around inside. He leaned over, pushing his arm into the three-inch deep pouch all the way to the elbow again, pushing aside what was probably a clay cherry bomb, then grasped a skinny glass jar and pulled it free.

 

“That’s not it,” he muttered upon seeing its label – _Dried Mugwort_ –, then dropped it back into the pocket.

 

Steve jumped up and hit him with the closed paper fan.

 

“Ow!” Bucky said, jumping backwards and rubbing his shoulder.

 

“Why do we have all those baskets and crates if you have a magic belt?” Steve hissed.

 

“The stuff has to fit into the pouch,” Bucky explained.

 

Steve lifted his brows and held the fan in front of Bucky’s face. Then he grabbed a pouch on Bucky’s belt and shoved the fan in.

 

“That’s the wrong pouch!” Bucky gasped, then looked down into it and grimaced. “Now I’m never gonna find it again,” he grumbled.

 

“Explain to me how that fan fits in that pouch,” Steve demanded.

 

“It has to fit through the opening,” Bucky said, sweeping a finger around the hem of the pouch.

 

Steve blinked. He looked down into the pouch.

 

“How much stuff do you have in there?” he asked.

 

Bucky shrugged. “A lot?”

 

Steve looked back up slowly, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Do you even know?”

 

“I mean,” Bucky started, pointing in the direction he’d thrown the frog, “there was an entire toad in there that I didn’t know about.”

 

Steve blinked. Bucky blinked back at him. Steve looked into the depths of a pouch, then grabbed it and pulled it open.

 

“It’s empty!” he insisted.

 

Bucky stuck a finger into the pouch. The interior of the leather pouch turned pitch black.

 

“Oh,” Steve muttered. “How do you even find things?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I reach around until I got the think I’m looking for?”

 

Steve looked back into the pouch. “I don’t understand this,” he said.

 

“Well, this is starting to look suspicious,” Bucky told him. Even though the Rromani people and other nomads surrounding them would be wondering why he and Steve were looking into the pouches of his belt at this point, despite how easily they blended into the crowd. “Can we stop looking at my belt?”

 

Steve let go of him, turned, and flopped dramatically onto the tree stump; his skirt flared up and fluttered back to earth with a grumpy air. Steve dropped his chin into his hand and his elbow onto the tree stump between his knees, glaring at the air.

 

“Aw, don’t look like that,” Bucky said, then – “Hang on,” he said, and dug around in pouch #10 for a minute. “Here,” he said, tugging out a bunch of dried daisies.

 

Steve gawked at him. Hesitantly, he reached out and took the daisies.

 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Steve told him numbly.

 

“Thank you?” Bucky suggested, lifting his eyebrows and giving Steve a speculative look.

 

Steve blinked at the dried daisies. Then looked up. “Why in the Nine Hells do you even _have_ dried flowers?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I give ‘em to old ladies and kids who need a distraction.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said faintly. He gave Bucky a nod and a look that said he didn’t believe him one bit. “Okay.”

 

“Anyway, supper,” Bucky said, turning and heading to the fire pit in their campsite. “I can cook rice?”

 

“Do you have spices in there?” Steve asked, waving a vague hand towards Bucky’s belt.

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered, then dug around in pouch #3 with his hand pushed in only to the wrist this time. Pouch #3 was where he kept powders, poisons and the like, so if he had any spices, they would be there. He drew out a slim jar, then made a _yikes_ face and shoved it back. “That’s not edible,” he muttered, digging around again.

 

“What was it?” Steve asked faintly.

 

“Powdered vampire heart,” Bucky said. “Here –”

 

He drew out a larger jar and held it up for Steve’s inspection.

 

“Salt,” he said.

 

Steve blinked at him. “Powdered vampire heart?” he muttered.

 

“Causes internal bleeding,” Bucky told him. “If ingested. Burns the hell outta the nose if you breathe it in.”

 

Steve continued to blink. Bucky shrugged and put the jar of salt down, then resumed digging around in pouch #3.

 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pulling the fan back out.

 

He shook it out and fanned himself a couple of times before shutting it and dropping it into pouch #5, where it belonged with the rest of his non-lethal miscellaneous odds and ends. Then he reached back into pouch #3 and carried on shifting through the jars and bottles in it.

 

“Lemme have that fan,” Steve said.

 

Bucky pulled it out of pouch #5 and handed it to him. Steve flicked it open, then started wafting himself absently.

 

“You’re a madman,” he told Bucky in a flat tone.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said. He dug around more in pouch #3 and pulled out a heavy jar. “Hey, the tadpoles!”

 

Bucky held it up to the light and squinted at it. “Weird,” he muttered. “They’re all still dead.”  


Steve looked at him, eyebrows raised. “ _Still?_ ” he repeated. “Then where did the live frog come from?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered, shoving the tadpoles back into his belt.

 

“Why do you have a jar of tadpoles?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky stopped rummaging and looked at the air. He frowned heavily.

 

“I don’t know?” he said, looking back at Steve. “It seemed like a good idea to pick it up at the time?”

 

“Where did you pick it up?” Steve asked him incredulously.

 

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t remember, I’ve had ‘em for about thirty years at this point.”

 

Steve gave him the deranged uncle look again. “Thirty years?” he echoed in a mutter.

 

“Maybe thirty-five,” Bucky said, frowning again. He pulled the jar of tadpoles from his belt again to squint at it. “They don’t look any older than that.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve muttered. “Sure.”

 

Bucky put it back, then resumed rummaging. “I might have some pepper in here.”

 

Steve got up and walked to the wagon. “I’m gonna build the fire,” he said.

 

Bucky quit rummaging to jump up and dart over to the wagon, scooping the firewood from Steve’s arms quickly.

 

“Hey!” Steve said.

 

“Women don’t build fires,” Bucky hissed; he raised his eyebrows and gave him a nod before turning around to do it himself. “Cover, Steve.

 

“I mean,” Steve said behind him as Bucky began assembling a pyre. “You’re right? But it’s wrong?”

 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky answered. “Can you get my flint out of pouch number eight?”

 

Steve walked over and crouched next to him. “Which one is eight?” he asked, looking clueless.

 

Bucky pointed, then carried on. He saw Steve reaching into pouch #8 from the corner of his eye, digging around for a while. Then he yelped and yanked his hand out. He glared at Bucky.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Bucky said, grabbing Steve’s hand and carefully prying the mousetrap from his fingers. “That’s in the wrong pouch.”

 

“You find it,” Steve told him, shaking his hand then pulling it close to his chest.

 

Bucky dropped the mousetrap into pouch #5 and dug around in #8. He let out an _a-ha!_ when he found the flint and steel, then pulled some paper scraps from #7 and arranged them in a pile in the center of the kindling. He struck the flint a few times, then carefully blew on the paper until they burst into flame and lit the kindling.

 

“There,” Bucky said, standing up. He headed back to the wagon and pulled out the grate to put over the flames, then a pot and walked back to where Steve was watching the fire grow with blank eyes. He set up the grate and pot, then looked around for his canteen.

 

“I could –?” Steve said, looking up.

 

Bucky cast another glance around. “Subtle?” he muttered towards Steve.

 

Steve touched a hand to the rim of the pot. The bottom of it shimmered, then water rose in it.

 

“Handy,” Bucky said, walking back to the baskets. He tugged out the sack of rice, then set it aside and started sorting the dried foods into the right baskets.

 

“How do you organize them?” Steve asked abruptly.

 

Bucky glanced up at him. “There’s only dried fruit and meat,” he said.

 

“No, the belt,” Steve replied, waving a hand in his direction. “The pouches. How do you organize them?”

 

Bucky looked down. “Well –” he started.

 

“You do have it organized?” Steve asked, his eyebrows raised.

 

“I do!” Bucky insisted. He sat down next to Steve on the ground and pointed to pouch #1. “That’s sharp things that can kill people,” he began.

 

“Sharp things usually can kill people,” Steve commented dryly.

 

“Shush,” Bucky told him. “Number two, that’s blunt things that can kill people. Number three, that’s powders that can kill people, number four is liquids that can kill people –”

 

“Can everything in your belt kill people?” Steve asked, his eyebrows lifting even further.

 

“Number five is random shit that _can’t_ kill people,” Bucky continued in a dry tone.

 

“I see,” Steve answered, a corner of his lip lifting.

 

“Number six is random shit that can,” Bucky added, carrying on. “Seven is books and scrolls and the like, eight is tools, nine is tools that can kill people –”

 

Steve broke in with laughter.

 

“Do you wanna know or not?” Bucky demanded as Steve continued to laugh at him.

 

“Tools and _then_ tools that can kill!” Steve wheezed. He grabbed Bucky’s shoulder and fell against him, his weight tugging Bucky toward him as Steve continued to laugh. “ _Then_ tools can kill!” he gasped.

 

“Ten is plants,” Bucky said over his laughter. “Eleven is enchanted things, so your crystal would go in there, twelve is loot –”

 

“Tools that can kill,” Steve wheezed, still slumped on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Thirteen is loot that can kill people,” Bucky finished.

 

Steve met his gaze. Then he broke into a laugh and fell over completely, his head landing in Bucky’s lap.

 

“You asked,” Bucky told him, leaning down to look at Steve.

 

“I love your belt,” Steve whispered, grinning at the sky.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Bucky said, then bent and gave him a quick kiss.

 

Steve grinned up at him, then, and reached up to thread his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky smiled down at him, touching a hand to his cheek.

 

“You’re cute,” Steve said softly.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Bucky repeated, looking fondly at Steve.

 

“C’mere,” Steve added, pulling on the back of his head.

 

Bucky bent and let Steve pull him into a slow, warm kiss. Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, feeling that absinthe rush to his blood and brushed his thumb against the crest of Steve’s cheek lightly as they kissed.

 

“You kids must be newlyweds.”

 

Bucky jerked up and shoved a hand into pouch #1 to pull out a sharp thing he could throw, but an older guy in monk’s robes dropped down in front of their fire with his hands held in front of him non-threateningly. Bucky narrowed his eyes and gripped a javelin, but didn’t pull it out.

 

“Is it that obvious?” Bucky asked carefully.

 

The monk gave him a wry smile. “Don’t see many couples your age period,” he said.

 

The monk touched his palms together and bent his head, still making eye contact. Bucky hesitated before mimicking the gesture. It had been a long time since anyone had greeted him in such a way. He’d thought that that was another thing lost to time since the Cretans had invaded.

 

“Well met, friend,” Bucky said stiffly.

 

“Well met,” the monk answered, “James, son of George.”

 

Bucky yanked the javelin from its pouch but Steve grabbed his hand, shoving it back in. Steve sat up carefully, looking at the monk with narrowed eyes.

 

“Who are you?” he asked.

 

“Hopefully an ally,” the monk said. He bent his head towards Steve as well. “Well met, Steven, son of Sarah.”

 

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand, pushing it back further into the pouch. “What do you want?” he demanded.

 

“To help you,” the monk said. “My name is Bruce, son of Baodán. I serve the Morrígan.”

 

“Uh,” Steve said.

 

“Nobody serves the Morrígan anymore,” Bucky said distrustingly.

 

“I serve the Morrígan,” Bruce the son of Baodán said, sounding offended. “And the Morrígan asked me to find you.”

 

“Why?” Steve demanded.

 

“There is an ordinance going out,” Bruce told them. “The Emperor really wants you dead, Steven.”

 

“How do you know?” Steve countered.

 

“The Morrígan,” Bruce answered, spreading his palms.

 

Bucky jerked his hand from Steve’s grip, then shoved it into pouch #7 and yanked a worn scroll from it, parchment so old it had become soft like paper. He shook it open and started mouthing the words on it.

 

“I am telling you the truth, James,” Bruce said.

 

Bucky carried on silently reading the Liar’s Bane spell.

 

“If you must,” Bruce sighed.

 

Bucky finished and looked up at the monk.

 

“I am here to help you,” Bruce insisted.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze back to the scroll, then glared at Bruce. “How do you know my name?”

 

“I confess,” Bruce began, “it was revealed to me in a vision.”

 

Bucky’s scowl deepened. He looked at the scroll, but it wasn’t glowing. He almost wondered if the magic had faded, because there was no way this monk was telling the truth. _No one_ served the Morrígan anymore. Not even Bucky.

 

“The Morrígan told me you would be here,” Bruce continued. “She told me to warn you that you would not be able to leave the city if I did not help you.”

 

“Why not?” Steve asked.

 

“The Emperor gave an order to his servants,” Bruce said. “To find all male Omegas in the nation and execute them.”

 

Bucky glanced at Steve. “But –”

 

“The Emperor gave permission to search all female Omegas as well,” Bruce added on. “To ensure no men were trying to hide as women.”

 

“Search…?” Steve questioned.

 

“A polite term for violate,” Bruce answered darkly. “To put it bluntly –”

 

Bruce touched his own breast. Steve shrank against Bucky’s side.

 

“That’s impossible –” Bucky spluttered, grabbing Steve’s shoulders and tugging him closer.

 

“They’re already violating Omegas,” Steve reminded him quietly.

 

Bucky swallowed. His throat was dry.

 

“Any Omega woman old enough to have presented would have matured physically,” Bruce said in a careful tone. “It would be clear you are not a woman.”

 

“How can we know you’re telling the truth?” Steve asked sharply.

 

“A declaration shall be made tonight,” Bruce said, then looked up at the sky. “Soon, I think.”

 

Even as Bruce lowered his gaze again, the sound of hooves could be heard and a trumpet was blown.

 

“All persons shall assemble at the city center for an edict from the Emperor!” a soldier called. “All persons!”

 

“They will be searching anyone going in or out of the city,” Bruce told them. Then got up. “You may as well attend the gathering.”

 

“Wait!” Bucky said, jumping to his feet and holding out a hand as Bruce turned to go. “You said you could help us. How?”

 

Bruce glanced around. Then stepped closer.

 

“There is a spell,” he said quietly. “That would allow him to pass for a time.”

 

“Uh,” Steve answered worriedly.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze between the monk and his Omega. “How accurate is the glamor?” Bucky asked the monk.

 

“It’s not a glamor,” Bruce said. “It’s transfiguration.”

 

“Uh!” Steve repeated even more worriedly.

 

“You should still attend the gathering,” Bruce told them. “You could be killed simply because you did not come if you stay.”

 

Bucky reluctantly kicked dirt over the fire. “I’m guessing you have to cast the spell?” he asked skeptically.

 

“I’m not a magician,” Bruce replied. “Steven would have to cast himself.”

 

“I’ve never cast a full spell once in my life!” Steve hissed, hurrying forward. “I can’t transfigure myself into a woman!”

 

“Sure you can,” Bruce told him. “You serve a god, do you not?”

 

Steve blinked. “Uh,” he repeated.

 

Bruce sighed. “I can help you,” he said. “But I have no innate magic, even with all my blessings from the Morrígan. I could not successfully cast it. You have to do it.”

 

“All persons gather for an edict from the Emperor!” the soldier shouted as he rode past on his horse.

 

“Come,” Bruce told them, turning to go. “You will not like it, but you’ll see I am telling you the truth.”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him into his side. Steve went willingly, grabbing his sleeve and holding onto it tightly. They followed Bruce, son of Baodán, through the streets towards the wide city center, where a high dais raised above the crowds held a small gathering of official-looking men.

 

Bucky thought the dais looked too similar to a gallows to be anything but.

 

Trumpets blared. The entire city, packed into its spacious but still cramped square, fell silent.

 

“Men and women of the Cretan Empire,” a city official called into a metal cone that amplified his voice. “Hear the words of your Emperor and give thanks!”

 

Bucky did not like the way the silence lay so heavily in the gaps between the official’s words. Cities were never meant to be silent.

 

“Our gracious and kind Emperor has seen a lurking evil in our midst,” the official called.

 

His voice echoed unnaturally. The Cretan Empire didn’t use magic – Bullshit. Cities were never silent like this.

 

“Well and truly, demons walk among us,” the official said. “Seductresses of the most carnal sort!”

 

Steve’s hand closed on Bucky’s arm, squeezing tightly. Bruce, the monk, hung his head sadly.

 

“Succubi and incubi have taken mortal forms!” the official declared. “They wish to fool our simple minds and steal our very souls for the glories of pagan gods and goddesses! But the Emperor has seen a way of rooting out these evil beings and saving our souls! Rejoice!”

 

Bruce shook his head slowly.

 

“Behold!” the official called.

 

A soldier pulled forward a reedy figure hooded in sackcloth and lifted them bodily into the air.

 

“The very incubus that has been plaguing this city!” the official yelled. “The male Omega!”

 

“Oh, gods,” Steve whispered.

 

“The Emperor has seen that all male Omegas and female Alphas are truly demons in disguise!” the official called. “But fear not, good people, for the Emperor has been given divine right and has shown us how to kill these demons!”

 

“Public execution,” Bruce whispered sorrily. “I did not foresee this.”

 

Two men carried forward a guillotine. Bucky looked away, then pulled Steve’s face into his chest. He didn’t want Steve to see.

 

“Behold!” the official called.

 

A scream of anger and sorrow broke out from across the silent city square. It was stifled almost immediately in a gurgle. Bucky winced.

 

“Death by decapitation, from a pure, blessed iron blade! This demon shall plague our streets no longer!”

 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear the guillotine’s blade falling.

 

“Rejoice,” the official said. Bucky could hear the head falling, rolling off the dais platform and landing with a sickening squelch on the ground ten feet below. “Rejoice, children of Thanos, for your Emperor shall keep our children safe from all evil!”

 

Steve was shaking and Bucky could guess it was genuine this time. Bucky looked up, saw the blood and the slumped body, then away again. He pulled Steve’s face back into his chest. Steve gripped the buckles of his vest tightly.

 

“Our Emperor gives us one last warning! Beware! There is one incubus walking these lands that has more power than any other!”

 

Bucky’s blood ran colder than normal.

 

“He is a prince among demons!” the official said. “Born of a witch born of a witch! Be wary for the

boy-girl witch by the name of Steven, son of Sarah!”

 

Steve jerked in Bucky’s arms. Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s headscarf, his hands digging into Steve’s back. This was too much. He couldn’t understand how the Emperor could have lost so much compassion? Omega men and Alpha women were no demons, they were people. Just people.

 

That poor boy, beheaded before an entire city. He’d barely looked twenty.

 

“I dismiss you,” the official said at last. “Know that any male Omega or female Alpha found in our lands is a demon, and be watchful for the prince of demons himself, the son of Sarah!”

 

“Try not to look so frightened,” Bruce said softly behind Bucky.

 

“Be on your way,” the official announced, and the unnatural silence broke.

 

“Come on,” Bucky said to Steve over the clamor filling the square.

 

“Oh, my gods,” Steve hissed under his breath as Bucky started walking them forward.

 

Bruce came upon Steve’s other side. “Calm yourself,” he whispered. “Do not attract attention.”

 

Steve swallowed and took a deep breath. Bucky squeezed his shoulders, trying to reassure him. The monk walked with them back to the sea of tents, to their campsite, and joined them at the dead fire.

 

“You see I speak true,” Bruce said as they sat.

 

“I’ll hide Steve,” Bucky announced. “I have a contract to fill out, the payment is a powerful glamor spell.”

 

“Glamors will not be enough,” Bruce insisted. “The Cretan soldiers have been given the tools to detect such enchantments, and if he were found – You saw. The safest course is transfiguration.”

 

Bucky looked at Steve, feeling lost. He couldn’t help but imagine _Steve_ on those gallows, facing down the iron guillotine.

 

“How long does it take?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“To cast the spell?” Bruce countered, then shrugged. “An hour. To prepare for it?”

 

He shrugged again, looking sorry ever still.

 

“Do you have it?” Steve added.

 

“It is within the Morrígan’s temple,” Bruce answered. “Within the catacombs of the city.”

 

“Do the soldiers know about the catacombs?” Bucky asked quickly.

 

Bruce shook his head. “They haven’t found it as of yet.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Steve demanded.

 

Bruce looked at Steve with frankness in his eyes. “You are the last witch in Yorke,” he said simply. “You are the last hope to restore the old gods and take down the Cretan Empire. Thanos is claiming divinity now, there is very little that can stop him.”

 

“I don’t even know how to cast a spell!” Steve insisted. “I can manipulate elements and talk to animals, I can barely lift a shield with magic! How can I be Yorke’s last hope?”

 

“Because you are the last defender standing,” Bruce answered.

 

“You’re not the last,” Bucky declared. Bruce and Steve looked at him and Bucky gave his Omega a firm nod. “You’ve got me.”

 

Steve lost some of the tension in his shoulders and he smiled weakly in Bucky’s direction. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Two people against a nation.”

 

“Well, you have the gods,” Bruce pointed out. “And me, I suppose.”

 

“A witch, a werewolf, and a monk,” Steve muttered. “This is one hell of a group.”

 

“Don’t forget the gods,” Bruce added.

 

Steve exhaled. “Alright. We should – We should get started on that transfiguration thing.”

 

Bruce pushed to his feet. “I can take you,” he said.

 

“Wait,” Bucky said hastily and the two looked at him again. “What about –?” He raised his eyebrows at Steve. “The thing.”

 

Steve blew out his breath. “I guess you don’t have backup anymore,” he said, scowling.

 

Bucky glanced at Bruce, then stepped closer to Steve. “Are you sure this a good idea?” he asked quietly. “You could wait until morning.”

 

“I wouldn’t advise sleeping here,” Bruce said quickly. “There will be a raid at dawn. There always is.”

 

“Shit,” Steve muttered. He pressed his hands together and held them in front of his mouth, frowning at the ground. “Shit,” he whispered again.

 

“Your safest bet is to come with me,” Bruce said.

 

Bucky looked between Bruce and Steve, then took Steve’s arm and pulled him away. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” he said in a low voice.

 

“Me neither,” Steve muttered. “But – If you really want that spellbook, you have to go. And we can’t stay here.”

 

Bucky glanced at Bruce again. “Promise me you’ll use your powers to defend yourself?” he whispered to Steve.

 

Steve nodded. “Done it before,” he said under his breath.

 

Bucky didn’t question that. He cupped Steve’s chin and pressed a slow kiss to his lips, then pulled back and started striking camp.

 

“How you gonna get that wagon in the catacombs?” Steve asked.

 

“There are stables,” Bruce answered.

 

“How are the catacombs still hidden?” Bucky asked.

 

“There is a house on top of the entrance,” Bruce said.

 

Bucky squinted suspiciously, pausing in taking down the tent. “A house?”

 

Bruce nodded. “My house, to be specific.”

 

Bucky squinted more. “Right,” he said slowly.

 

“I am one of the city’s healers,” Bruce added. “My family has held renown since the founding of Hel’s Kitchen, the soldiers don’t question our property.”

 

“What family?” Bucky asked.

 

“Banner,” Bruce told him.

 

Bucky stood up. “No shit?” he muttered. “I think I knew your great-grandparents.”

 

“You knew everybody’s great-grandparents,” Steve muttered.

 

“I don’t follow,” Bruce said, glancing between them with a frown.

 

Bucky lifted his eyebrows. “The Morrígan told you how to find us but not who we are?”

 

“I know him,” Bruce said, pointing to Steve. “The Morrígan just said you were his Alpha.”

 

Steve laughed. Bucky made a displeased face and carried on taking down the tent.

 

“That’s all that really matters, isn’t it, Buck?” Steve asked cheekily.

 

“Oh, sure,” Bucky grumbled. He folded the frame and lifted it onto his shoulder, heading for the wagon. “I’ll be a house Alpha, then, shall I?”

 

“It’s all you’re suited for, doll,” Steve answered happily.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Bruce looked confused.

 

“How did you know my great-grandparents?” he asked.

 

“Tell you later,” Bucky replied, heaving the tent into the wagon’s bed. He bent and started lifting baskets into the wagon next. “Not that it matters, I’m just that guy’s Alpha.”

 

Steve continued laughing. Bucky grumbled, but he was honestly glad that something could distract Steve from the edict released by the Cretan Emperor, even if it came at the cost of his pride.

 

“How far’s your home?” Bucky asked.

 

“Around the edge, not that far,” Bruce told him.

 

“What will you say if someone asks who the wagon belongs to?” Bucky asked him, squinting again.

 

“My niece and her husband,” Bruce said with a shrug.

 

“Do you have a niece?” Steve pressed.

 

“I do, actually,” Bruce said, “she’s your age and build, so it won’t be difficult to pass you as her.”

 

Steve glanced down himself, then hugged his ribs and shrugged. Bucky touched his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then lifted the grate from over the firepit and put it in the wagon.

 

“Will the spell make me –” Steve started, then shrugged again. “Look any different? Other than – You know.”

 

Bucky glanced up to see Bruce shrug, too.

 

“I don’t think so,” the monk answered.

 

Steve nodded. Bucky hooked Patchouli back up to the wagon, then moved to stand at Steve’s shoulder.

 

“I think we’re ready,” he prompted.

 

Steve gave a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “You’ll show us the way?”

 

“Of course,” Bruce said.

 

Bucky lifted Steve into the wagon, then got in and gave the monk a hand up. Bucky flicked the reins and Patchouli pulled into the road, going at a walk.

 

“That way,” Bruce said, pointing. “It’s on the edge of its quarter.”

 

Bucky clicked his tongue and Patchouli picked up to a light trot. The sun was starting to set and the occupants of the tent city were mostly heading to bed, but there was always movement in cities like Hel’s Kitchen. Nobody looked at them. Steve leaned on Bucky’s shoulder, shutting his eyes like he was going to sleep, and Bruce gave Bucky short directions where needed. Soon, they neared a stately villa with its own stables and Bruce directed Bucky into the attached stable.

 

“You can stall your horse in here,” Bruce told him, getting down.

 

Bucky followed him and Steve sat up, blinking. Maybe he had really been asleep.

 

“Here,” Bruce added, pointing.

 

Bucky nodded and set about unhitching the horse. Patchouli knickered softly and he pulled some barley from pouch #10 for her to munch out of his hand, then put her on a lead and walked her into the stall to take off her bridle. Bruce produced food and water pans and Bucky filled each before shutting the door. He put the tackle in the wagon, took down his pack with their nightclothes, then walked over to let Steve down.

 

“You should rest before you attempt any kind of magic,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve yawned, then nodded. Bruce lead them into the house, lighting lanterns throughout the spacious, open first floor.

 

“There are bedrooms on the second floor,” Bruce said, turning to face them.

 

“I gotta get going once it’s dark,” Bucky told Steve, looking around Bruce’s house. “You’ll be alright on your own?”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky glanced once more at Bruce, then decided he’d set alarms on whatever room he left Steve in, just in case.

 

“Where do you have to go?” Bruce questioned.

 

“I got a contract,” Bucky said.

 

Bruce frowned. “And that means?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said, remembering that the monk didn’t know who he was. He squinted at Bruce and considered his options. “It’s a thing,” he said eventually.

 

“A thing,” Bruce repeated, raising an eyebrow.

 

“A thing,” Bucky restated. “Not a concern.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows, too, looking at the ground as he leaned on Bucky. “A thing,” he grumbled.

 

“Are you going to tell me how you knew my great-grandparents?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Bucky considered it. “Maybe later,” he said.

 

“Why not now?” Bruce pushed.

 

“Because,” Bucky said simply. He slipped his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Second floor? Any bedroom?”

 

Bruce looked at him with narrowed eyes. “The Morrígan would tell me,” he said after a moment. “If I asked.”

 

Bucky thinned his lips. “I serve the Morrígan, technically,” he told Bruce carefully. “She doesn’t tend to betray her servants’ secrets.”

 

“Do you serve her or do you not?” Bruce asked. “There is no technically.”

 

Bucky scowled. He’d made a pledge once, as a squire, then continued to pray for her blessings and protection once he escaped the Eastern Red Skull, but he wasn’t a true servant the way Bruce clearly was.

 

“I serve her,” he insisted.

 

Bruce looked at him for a while. “We shall see,” he said.

 

“Buck,” Steve muttered and Bucky shifted his gaze. “Maybe you could just tell him?”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Steve shrugged. Bucky shook his head and look away.

 

“Second floor?” he asked Bruce again.

 

Bruce pointed. “Go ahead,” he sighed. “I sleep down here, I haven’t touched the second floor in – In quite some time, honestly. My apologies for any dust.”

 

Bucky pulled Steve a little closer and started for the stairs. “We’ll manage,” he told Bruce, picking up a candle on his way.

 

Steve cast a glance back, but didn’t fight Bucky pulling him on. They climbed the stairs and Bucky headed for the first bedroom he saw.

 

It was spacious like the first floor, but perhaps that was due to how empty it was. There was a wardrobe in one corner and a wide bed, and that was all. Steve headed straight for the bed and fell onto it with a content sigh.

 

Dust immediately poured into the air and Steve jumped back up, coughing.

 

“Better do something about that,” Bucky told him, dropping his pack. He reached into pouch #5 and started pulling out bells and twine and nails to wire the door.

 

“He wasn’t kidding,” Steve said between coughs.

 

Bucky watched for a second as Steve started to manipulate the dust in the air with his magic, but turned away and began trapping the door. He used his silver hand to push the nail into the doorway, then wrapped the twine onto it and dangled the bell from it. He flicked the bell and it chimed, ringing clearly, and Bucky gave a satisfied nod.

 

“Try to stay awake until I get back,” Bucky said, turning back to face Steve.

 

Steve was already asleep.

 

Bucky sighed. He reached into pouch #7 and withdrew a piece of charcoal, then etched a protection sigil into the back of the door. When he was done, he put the charcoal away and took out a knife instead, pricking his thumb and touching the blood to the center of the sigil. He shut his eyes and prayed silently to the gods to fill the sigil with power, and when light flashed over his eyelids, he removed his bleeding thumb and put the knife away. Then he walked over to Steve lying on the bed and just looked at him for a moment.

 

Steve was lying over top of the bed linens, Bucky’s cloak pulled over his front and his shoulders slowly expanding and falling with his breathing. Bucky adjusted the cloak to cover Steve more thoroughly, then considered pouch #5 for a moment before reaching into it. Rummaging for a second yielded a fur plate, probably from a lion or a bear given its size, and Bucky laid that over Steve as well.

 

Steve curled up a little tighter in his sleep and pulled the fur farther up his shoulder. Bucky took a moment to rub his flesh wrist over the fur where it was close to Steve’s head, then bent and kissed Steve’s temple. Steve shifted a little, but didn’t wake.

 

Bucky lingered there, breathing in Steve’s scent for a while, then bumped his nose against Steve’s cheek and straightened up. He strung a bell over the window, opened it and slipped out onto the roof, then pulled the bell over the window’s hem and shut it. He drew a smaller sigil outside the window, charged it with his blood and a prayer, then crept away over the roof.

 

The twilight was long since ended and the waning gibbous moon cast a clear and bright glow over the city of Hel’s Kitchen. Bucky covered his face and pulled a hood over his head to keep his hair or face from reflecting any light and crept over the city by rooftops. He was slow, since he had to find Commander Thrasea’s home by sight, and it was probably near the first hour of the morning when he did finally locate it.

 

Bucky hunkered down on the roof of an opposite house. He watched the house and streets for perhaps half an hour before making a move.

 

Like any city within the Cretan Empire, there were night patrols. Hel’s Kitchen seemed to be more vigilant than Brooklyn, but that posed little challenge to Bucky since they still failed to look _up._ There had been a pride of gryphons when he was a squire that terrorized Yorke from Manhattan to Brooklyn that had lead to every Yorkeish soldier watching the sky as carefully as the land, but the Cretans never dealt with such aerial villains. It left them stupid.

 

Bucky used his grappling hook and a rope to cross the street via the air in between patrols, then slipped into the house from a second-floor window. He crouched low on the floor in front of the window, finding a room with furniture covered in sheets and devoid of life. The dust on the ground was thicker than in the monk’s house, which was just dandy. Bucky looked at his footprints, then dug around in pouch #3 until he came up with a jar of Dust of Tracelessness.

 

He held it up to the light and scowled. This was going to use up the last of it. But he put it back, knowing that he’d have to cover his tracks on his way out, and crept forward.

 

He learned the creaks in the floors quickly and walked on light feet. He slipped out of the room and entered a main hallway, seeing more closed doors and stairs leading down. Bucky carefully tasted the air, and under the heavy covering of dust, he could smell a single Alpha.

 

Bucky followed the scent trail down the stairs. Commander Thrasea was asleep on a fainting couch on the first floor. Bucky spared little thought for how the man was living, surrounded by dust and ghosts of furniture, and took a heavy flowerhead from pouch #10. Thrasea slept with his throat exposed, and it was all too easy lay the flower over his face. After a few seconds under the heavily pungent Yellow Dreamweed, Thrasea’s breathing stopped. Bucky took a large jar from pouch #5 and a two-pronged tool from #9. He punctured Thrasea’s neck over his pulse, then pressed the jar to the wound to catch the spurting of blood. Bucky kept pulling out jars, filling them until Thrasea ran out of blood. He sealed the jars and put them in pouch #4, and really, he ought to just label pouches #3 and #4 as powders and liquids, then put away the Dreamweed and drew out his Dust of Tracelessness instead.

 

Bucky scattered the dust behind him to hide his tracks and went back out the way he came. Easy-peasy, he was a professional. When whoever found Thrasea’s body saw the puncture marks and how bloodless the body was, they would assume a vampire had killed him and go in search of open crypts. If Bucky was lucky, they’d find the very vampire Bucky was dealing with and take him out before Bucky could begin to feel too bad about letting a vampire roam Hel’s Kitchen free. Bucky shut the window behind him, climbed back up to the roof, and took a wide route back to the market. Easy-peasy.

 

He found the vampire still at his stall, dealing with a hooded figure that waited for the patrol of soldiers to leave before slipping away into the night. Bucky dropped onto the ground behind the cart and the vampire twisted around.

 

“Done?” the vampire asked.

 

“Done,” Bucky said. He neared, then pulled the first jar of blood from his belt. “I got twelve of these,” he said, pulling out the next.

 

“Twelve!” the vampire repeated excitedly. He snatched the first as Bucky kept taking out jars, unscrewed the lid and started gulping.

 

Bucky wasn’t very sympathetic to vampires. First, on principle as a werewolf. Second, blood was pretty gross. So he did not watch as the vampire drained the jar of fresh human blood and did his best not to grimace.

 

“Oh,” the vampire said softly as he finished the jar. He set it and the lid down then pushed out of his chair and stretched. “Oh, that feels much better.”

 

When the vampire turned to face Bucky, he was about sixty years younger.

 

“Many thanks to thee, hunter,” the vampire said to him, his fresh face split in a broad grin. He had blood on his teeth still. “Thou be a true professional.”

 

“Whatever,” Bucky said, putting down the twelfth jar. “Payment.”

 

The vampire pulled the thick tome from under the cart, then a large chunk of gleaming rock. Bucky took both and looked suspiciously at the rock.

 

“It be hematite,” the vampire told him.

 

“Aw, sweet!” Bucky whispered, now looking at the stone with more appreciation.

 

Hematite, which was very rare these days, warded off faekind far better than even pure iron. If he could find a forge, he could make an amulet out of it and turn it into a protection charm. It would make a great third gift for Steve.

 

“The book be unlocked,” the vampire said then. “It be blank until the boy-witch puts his blood on it. Thy blood would do nothing as thou have no magic.”

 

Bucky gave a nod, stowing the book into pouch #7 and the chunk of hematite in #12. “Out of curiosity, why did you want Thrasea dead?”

 

The vampire showed his teeth in a grin. “He be Cretan.”

 

Bucky felt odd solidarity with this random vampire. He held out his hand and the vampire shook it, fulfilling the contract.

 

“Take care of yourself,” Bucky told him. “Maybe hide out for a while, the Cretans will probably assume Thrasea was killed by a vampire considering I drained him of blood.”

 

The vampire chuckled. “Professional,” he accused once more.

 

Bucky just shrugged. “It pays.”

 

“Thee and thy Omega be well, hunter of men,” the vampire bade, bowing his head and touching his hands together. “I wish thee safe passage to thy destination.”

 

Bucky saluted as he backed up. The vampire’s teeth glinted in the moonlight as he smiled again, but Bucky simply turned and scaled a nearby building. He cast a glance back to the vampire, now re-settling himself at his stall, then headed back across the city to the monk’s house.

 

Opening the window, the bell tinkled but Steve didn’t wake. The candle had burned low while Bucky was gone. He set down on the floor with the same light feet, then reset the alarm on the window and shut it. He took off his leathers, set down his enchanted belt, and blew out the candle. Armed with his hand crossbow and a dirk, Bucky got into the bed next to Steve. His Omega still didn’t wake. Bucky, always assuming the worst, checked Steve was still breathing by holding the dirk under his nose carefully, and, reassured that Steve was just that heavy of a sleeper, Bucky stowed the dirk under his pillow and settled to sleep.

 

Steve, though, must have somehow sensed Bucky’s presence while still asleep. He reached out and tugged lightly on the front of Bucky’s tunic, until Bucky obediently slipped closer and pulled Steve into his arms. Steve settled again, his breathing slow and deep. Bucky pulled the fur covering him over himself as well, then ducked his nose into Steve’s hair, taking in his sweet scent as he, too, fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yikes. see y'all in a bit with the next one!_


	10. THE SPELL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _gender bending! magic! eek!_

#  _[THE SPELL]_

  


Dawn woke Bucky from the light doze he’d fallen into during the night. He slipped from the bed, despite Steve whimpering a little in his sleep, and checked the window and door. Neither had been disturbed. Bucky donned his armor again, buckled his enchanted belt around his hips, then put away his weapons and bent over the bed.

 

“Steve,” he said softly.

 

Steve lifted a hand and smacked him in the face lightly once or twice. Bucky jerked back and shook his head, then leaned down again and wormed his face into Steve’s neck. Steve hummed in his sleep and relaxed, letting his throat show, and Bucky nuzzled it for a second before biting Steve’s ear.

 

“Ow,” Steve mumbled, waving his hand in the direction of Bucky’s face again.

 

“Time to get up,” Bucky told him.

 

“No,” Steve said firmly and pushed him away.

 

Bucky, undaunted, pushed his arms under Steve’s torso and forcibly sat him up. Steve opened his eyes and scowled, squinting.

 

“You’re mean,” Steve grumbled.

 

“Shush,” Bucky told him. Then pulled the vampire’s spellbook and a small knife from his belt. “I need to prick your finger.”

 

“Why?” Steve whined.

 

“So you can lock the book,” Bucky explained.

 

Steve blinked at him, though he was still squinting. “So I can do what now?”

 

Bucky opened the book. “It’s unlocked, so it’s blank right now. You have to put your blood on it to lock it so you can read it.”

 

“That seems counterintuitive,” Steve muttered, but lifted his hand and held to his thumb.

 

Bucky pricked it gently, but Steve still winced. Bucky pressed Steve’s bleeding thumb to the front page of the book, holding it for a second, then released it. The blood sank into the page and letters began to appear.

 

“It’s in English,” Steve said, sounding almost surprised.

 

“Probably the blood magic,” Bucky told him. Then shut the book and shoved it back into his belt. “And!” he added, pulling out the chunk of hematite. “This was the bonus for bringing back the target’s blood.”

 

Bucky held up the stone. Steve squinted at it, then poked it. He yelped and scrambled backwards away from it, shoving his finger into his mouth and sucking on it. Bucky blinked, looking between the hematite and Steve.

 

“It burned me!” Steve whined, pulling out his finger and glaring at it. Then he glared at Bucky instead. “What is that?”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, looking at the rock. “You are faekind.”

 

“What?” Steve said.

 

Bucky sighed and put the hematite into his belt again. “It’s hematite, it repels faekind. You must really be faekind.”

 

“I told you I had fae blood!” Steve insisted, then kicked a foot at Bucky from under the fur.

 

“I didn’t think you were serious!” Bucky countered. “Fair folk don’t mix with mortals no more, how was I to know?”

 

Steve glared at Bucky.

 

“It can’t hurt you from inside my belt, it’s in suspended animation,” Bucky offered.

 

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve grumbled. He looked at his finger, disgruntled, then sucked on it a second longer as though it was still hurting. “Do you have anything for burns?” he mumbled around his finger.

 

“Uh,” Bucky said, then started rummaging in pouch #4. He didn’t typically treat himself when he was burned beyond keeping it from getting infected because his body healed abnormally fast, but he did pick up anything that wasn’t nailed down normally, so who knew.

 

“Poultice of mint and aloe would be best,” Steve said, again squinting at his finger. “Bit of basil wouldn’t hurt, either, it is magic that burned me.”

 

Bucky stopped rummaging in pouch #4. “Oh,” he said, then dug around in pouch #10. He produced a sprig of mint, some aloe leaves, and a jar of basil. “Lemme find a mortar and pestle,” he told Steve, digging around in pouch #8.

 

Steve shuffled closer and picked up the ingredients. He sniffed each, then plucked a mint leaf from its stalk and bit it.

 

“How is this fresh?” he asked, frowning.

 

“Suspended animation,” Bucky said again. “Here –” He set a mortar and pestle on the bed.

 

Steve shrugged. He broke one of the aloe leaves in half, then squeezed the juice into the mortar before adding a few mint leaves and basil. He muddled it together, then scooped out a little and dabbed it onto his finger. He let out a long sigh.

 

“Here,” Bucky said, dropping a small jar onto the bed. “Save the rest.”

 

Steve scraped the remaining poultice into the jar and sealed it. Bucky took it back and put it in pouch #4, then put away the muddling tools and the remaining leaves. Steve sat back on the bed, holding his finger out to the air, and looked at the fur.

 

“Where did this come from?” he asked.

 

“Pouch number five,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You –” he started, then stopped. “Fine,” he said, then slid off the bed and stretched.

 

Bucky picked up the fur plate and stuffed it into pouch #5. Steve shook his head.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, feeling defensive.

 

Steve just shook his head. “C’mere,” he said, beckoning Bucky closer with a finger.

 

Bucky walked up to him and Steve pulled on his vest. Bucky kissed him, slow and sweet, and Steve leaned on his chest when they parted.

 

“Hello?” Bruce’s voice drifted into the room from the hallway. “Are you two still here?”

 

Bucky exhaled heavily. “We should go,” he said reluctantly.

 

“Ugh,” Steve agreed. He lifted off of Bucky’s chest and looked at his burned finger with distaste. “Ugh,” he repeated, then headed for the door.

 

Bucky grabbed his pack and hastily got between Steve and the door to wipe at the sigil with his sleeve until it smeared over. Steve shook his head again and Bucky opened the door for him, making the bell ring, and they found the monk standing in the middle of the hallway, looking around.

 

“There you are!” Bruce said, turning to face them. “Shall we go to the temple?”

 

“Might as well,” Steve sighed.

 

Bruce frowned at the way Steve was holding his hand aloft. “Did you hurt yourself?”

 

“Burned my finger,” Steve answered. “Mishap with the candle.”

 

“Ah,” Bruce said as Bucky made note of Steve’s lie. Don’t mention that he had fae blood, he told himself. “Well,” Bruce continued, then pointed to the stairs. “I’ll show you the way.”

 

Bucky took Steve’s hand to follow Bruce to the first floor. The monk threw a heavy rug out of his way, then opened a trap door.

 

“Down here,” he said, taking two candles from a nearby table. “James, if you’d like to take one?”

 

Bucky took the candle Bruce offered him. “Call me Bucky, will you?”

 

Bruce frowned. “Okay?”

 

“It’s my middle name,” Bucky added. “Buchanan.”

 

“Oh, that’s where it came from,” Steve said thoughtfully.

 

Bucky gave a shrug. “There were a lot of Jameses in my village.”

 

“Very well,” Bruce said, then stepped into the opening revealed by the trap door. “Follow me.”

 

Bucky held tight to Steve on the way down, not because Steve needed it, but because he still didn’t quite trust Bruce. Steve either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, Bucky wasn’t sure. He hoped it was the latter.

 

Bruce lead them down several staircases, until Bucky was sure they’d traveled three or four houses-worth into the earth before the tunnel finally stopped going down. Then it went on for about fifty feet before it opened into a massive cavern of offshoots, so many that Bucky felt dizzy just looking up and around. There were stairs lining the walls to access each tunnel, but Bruce headed for a nearby one on their level, taking it back almost towards the way they’d come. Bucky somehow knew they were headed west, but he always knew where north was, had since he’d woken up in the future. Then the tunnel started twisting, branches shot off, they went back east, then south, then west again then back south, then north, down and up and left and right and Bucky wasn’t sure they weren’t just going in massive circles.

 

He was beginning to suspect that it had all been a trap and Bruce was trying to get them lost so he could kill them when the tunnel they were in opened into another cavern.

 

“Whoa,” Steve whispered at Bucky’s side.

 

The cavern’s ceiling, lined with stalactites, was some fifty feet above them. It was maybe a hundred feet in diameter, a sheer drop off on the far side had a waterfall to an underground river, because a lake, likely fed by a natural spring, took up a large portion of the cavern. There were crystals everywhere, in the walls, the high ceiling, the floors, that gave a gentle, blueish green glow to the cavern and illuminated a massive statue sitting in the middle of the lake.

 

Bruce headed for the lake and Bucky looked up in awe at the three faces of the Morrígan. The Crow Goddess stood some twenty feet tall, three figures flanking one another in stone to show the virgin, the mother, and the crone. Each aspect of the Morrígan held aloft an object; the virgin held a lantern, actually filled with the glowing crystal that lined the cavern; the mother wielded a broadsword; the crone held a palmful of herbs – baby’s breath and yew.

 

“How –?” Steve whispered, his voice barely audible above the roaring of the waterfall.

 

“I don’t know,” Bruce called back. “There’s never been any text to explain how it got here, perhaps the Morrígan herself left it. But this place is full of magic –”  


“I can feel it,” Steve cut him off. He started to pull away from Bucky and Bucky grabbed his hand, pulling him back. Steve didn’t seem to notice. He gravitated towards the Morrígan, his eyes uplifted. “I can feel it,” Steve repeated softly.

 

At the lake’s edge, a shrine was set up, dedicated to the statue in the center of the lake. There were bookshelves carved into rocks arranged in a wide circle, a round and flat altar at its center with nine lines carved into it going out from the middle. Bruce moved to the shelves, but Steve, Bucky on his heel, headed for the water.

 

“The water is charged with magic,” Bruce told them. “Divine energy from the Morrígan. It has healing powers, even.”

 

Bucky eyed the water suspiciously. Steve crouched at its edge and waved a hand over it; the water rose in a spiral to meet his palm.

 

“I feel it,” Steve said yet again.

 

“I would advise you to treat it cautiously,” Bruce added. “It is holy as well as magic.”

 

Bucky edged away from the water. He and the shattered crystal in his left shoulder did not mix well with holy things.

 

Steve, however, simply dipped his fingers into the lake. The water glowed alongside his skin and Bucky, despite his wariness, edged back to look as Steve let the water cover both of his hands. The glow was surprising, but then again, Steve was a magician and this was a magic lake.

 

“You have history with the Morrígan,” Bruce said, sounding much closer.

 

Bucky jumped, on instinct reaching for a weapon. Bruce held out a hand and Bucky put the sword away, but edged nearer to Steve again.

 

“I never worshipped her,” Steve said, but he stayed focused on the water. “Not in particular, anyway.”

 

“No, see –”

 

Bruce bent and let his fingers dip into the water. Unlike Steve’s touch, his hand caused no glow.

 

“She has history with you,” Bruce clarified.

 

“Oh,” Steve said. He withdrew his hands. “Maybe it’s because I have – What did you call it? Innate magic?”

 

“Possibly,” Bruce mused. “Bucky, would you like –”

 

“No,” Bucky said quickly, backing up again. “I’m good, thanks.”

 

Bruce frowned. “It shouldn’t hurt you.”

 

Bucky hesitated. “I… I don’t do holy things.”

 

Bruce’s frown only grew. “You don’t do holy things?” he said slowly.

 

“Nah,” Bucky agreed. “Not a good plan.”

 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, then. “Why?”

 

Bucky hesitated again, flicking his gaze between Steve and Bruce. “Non-consensual enchantments,” he said eventually.

 

“Non-consensual enchantments?” Bruce repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He backed up a bit more. “So, no holy for me, thanks.”

 

Bruce’s eyes remained narrow, but abruptly, Steve sat on his ass on the rocky lakeshore and started tugging off his boots. Bucky edged closer again, curious.

 

“I get the feeling –” Steve started to say, then balled up his stockings and shoved them into his boots. “I should get in?”

 

“ _In?_ ” Bruce echoed.

 

“It’s a hunch,” Steve said.

 

He rose and lifted the hem of his skirts. Bucky got as close as he dared, keeping a good foot away, as Steve started to wade out into the water. It glowed around him, the same blueish-green as the crystals.

 

“Does the Morrígan have any faekind in her service?” Steve asked, pausing when the water was up to his knees.

 

“Yes,” Bruce said, seeming startled. “Yes, Macha – the mother aspect – she was the mother of the first two faeries, in fact.”

 

Steve nodded and turned back, beginning to wade again.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bucky called nervously.

 

“It’s fine,” Steve said.

 

Bucky shifted his weight from foot to foot. Steve waded further, eventually releasing his skirts to let them float on the water’s surface and the water rose to his waist nearly. Bucky was about ready to jump in himself and start hauling him out, holy water be damned, when Steve stopped.

 

The broadsword in Macha’s hand began to glow. Bucky took a hasty step back, feeling nervous again, as the herbs in Badb’s, the crone, began to glow as well. Like the lantern held aloft by Anann the virgin, Macha and Badb’s symbols began glowing brightly, until it became clear that they were made from the same crystal as the light source in Anann’s lantern and just, for some reason, had been dim until then.

 

Beside Bucky, Bruce fell to his knees and bowed down. Bucky glanced at him, then knelt as well just in case. He didn’t lower his gaze, but continued to watch as Steve just stood there. Steve just stood there, the water around him glowing the same way as the Morrígan’s symbols, and just stood there. Minutes ticked by and Bucky glanced at Bruce, finding him mouthing words that Bucky couldn’t decipher with the monk’s face touching the ground, then looked back at Steve, and Steve just stood there.

 

“Steve?” Bucky called out carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding distant.

 

“You alright?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said again. “She’s talking to me.”

 

Bruce lifted his head, his mouth wide open. Bucky glanced between him and Steve, at a loss for words.

 

“She’s giving me her blessing,” Steve said then. “I think.”  


Bucky said nothing else. Bruce said nothing at all. Time slipped on, and finally, Steve turned back after standing in the water for nearly half an hour. Bucky jumped to his feet as Steve waded back to shore, itching to reach out and grab him but holding still.

 

“The Morrígan spoke to you?” Bruce asked quietly.

 

Steve nodded. “She said she’d be my – my matron?”

 

“She did?” Bruce repeated, sounding startled.

 

Steve nodded again, frowning at the ground. He reached out, towards Bucky, but he was still standing up to his ankles in the water and Bucky was loathe to near it.

 

“It won’t hurt,” Steve told him.

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Holy magic usually does,” he said warily.

 

Steve waved him closer. “She said to bring you into the water. There’s a poison in you she’ll cure. She knows you were once an acolyte and she wishes to honor the service you gave to her.”

 

“I’m not poisoned,” Bucky said. Unless –

 

“Not the wolf,” Steve added. Bucky tensed. “Something else. Come here.”

 

Bucky still hesitated. “What poison?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Something to do with the Red Skull. The enchantment –”

 

Steve stopped abruptly, glancing at Bruce. Bruce looked between the two of them with heavily furrowed eyebrows.

 

“What…?” Bruce muttered.

 

“Come here,” Steve repeated to Bucky. “Don’t you trust me? It won’t hurt, love.”

 

Bucky took a cautious step towards the water’s edge. Steve reached out and Bucky touched their fingers together, still walking carefully towards the water.

 

“That’s it,” Steve encouraged him softly. “Take your shoes off. It’s holy ground.”

 

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to bend at the waist and pull off his boots and stockings. He rolled up the legs of his trousers, then, for good measure, took off his leathers.

 

Steve took his hand again and Bucky forced his foot to slide into the water. He winced, expecting the searing pain that always came with the touch of anything holy, but it didn’t come.

 

“There,” Steve murmured. “See?”

 

He took Bucky’s other hand and walked him further into the water. Bucky looked in awe at the water glowing around Steve and not burning his own skin, and Steve walked him in all the way up to Bucky’s waist, Steve’s chest-height.

 

“Here,” Steve said, reaching up to touch his shoulder. “Float on your back.”

 

Bucky leaned back in the water until his toes slipped from the pebbled bottom. Steve held his back, then his shoulder, then started pulling at the hem of his shirt.

 

“You have to take this off,” Steve explained. “Sorry.”

 

Bucky let his toes touch again, then pulled his tunic over his head. Steve draped it over his shoulder and Bucky leaned back in the water again, floating once more.

 

“What’s gonna happen?” Bucky asked, worried still.

 

“She’s going to cure you of the Red Skull’s enchantment,” Steve whispered to him. He reached up and brushed Bucky’s hair away from his face, smiling down at him. “What’s left of it.”

 

“What’s left of it?” Bucky repeated in a mutter. He glanced at his left arm, then looked back to Steve. “What is left of it?”

 

Steve’s smile turned a little sad. “Truthfully? All of it. It’s just that the crystal powering it was broken so you were able to overcome it. But it’s still there.”

 

Fear gripped Bucky’s chest. He jerked in the water, twisted and started to sink with the weight of his silver arm, but Steve pushed his hands under Bucky’s back and legs, holding him up.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve said to him softly, “don’t be afraid, love. It’s going to be gone soon.”

 

“I thought it was gone!” Bucky hissed.

 

His chest heaved as his breathing grew ragged and Steve let go of his knees to reach up and touch his face, his fingers gentle. Bucky sucked in a breath, sticking out his flesh arm to keep himself balanced, and Steve brushed back Bucky’s hair again.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve whispered again. “It’s going to be fine, love.”

 

Bucky gave a sharp nod. Steve let go of his back, moving in the water to stand behind his head and Bucky strained to keep his eyes on him. Steve leaned over his forehead and smiled at him, resuming petting his cheeks and hair gently. Bucky swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm his heartbeat. He held his breath, felt his heart stutter, start to slow –

 

“Don’t do that,” Steve said abruptly. Bucky immediately drew in a breath and his heartbeat picked back up. “Take a long breath, Buck,” Steve added, his gentle fingers caressing Bucky’s face. “Take a nice long breath, then slowly let it out.”

 

Bucky shut his eyes and followed Steve’s instructions. He let out the air slowly, letting his lungs rest for a second before breathing in again.

 

“There,” Steve said above him softly. “The Morrígan is gonna use my hands, Buck. Just keep breathing.”

 

Bucky nodded lightly. A finger pressed to the space between his eyebrows, then a palm touched the shattered crystal set in his shoulder. Bucky flinched; only because Steve, his sweet and gentle Omega, was touching something so thoroughly evil and maligned, but stilled himself quickly. He slowly came to see a white light through his eyelids, bright and pulsing. He heard no words, no magic incantation, just saw the light and felt Steve’s hands on him. The water lapped at his body, feeling simply like water.

 

Then a deep feeling of serenity fell over him and the light faded. The finger between his eyebrows swept into a whole palm, then lips pressed to his forehead.

 

“There,” Steve murmured. “It’s gone.”

 

Bucky cracked one eye open. “Really?”

 

Steve smiled. “Really.”

 

“That’s it?” Bucky pressed. He opened both eyes. “No mumbo-jumbo chanting? No out of body experiences? Five minutes in a magic pool and I’m done?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, love, the divine entity said hold still and I held still.”

 

“That’s usually how divine magic works!” Bruce called from the shore.

 

Bucky got his feet under him and shook water from his hair. Steve squealed and jerked his hands up to cover his face, so Bucky – well, maybe he was being a bit mean – grabbed Steve by the waist and fully dunked him.

 

Steve came back up gasping, glowing water arcing through the air as he burst from the depths. Bucky laughed, at least until Steve tackled him into the water.

 

Time almost slowed down. Bucky’s back hit the water and he started to sink. He opened his eyes, blinked, and saw Steve, ringed by the ethereal glow. Steve’s headscarf was blown off by the water, and now his hair stood out. His clothes billowed, his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was twisted in a closed-lip grin. Bucky blinked again under the water, holding his breath. Steve had a halo. Bucky didn’t believe in angels, but Steve looked like one right now.

 

Then buoyancy lifted them and their heads broke the surface of the water. Steve laughed and pushed his sodden hair from his eyes. Bucky pulled him in by the waist and kissed him.

 

The water tasted heavily of minerals and Steve’s lips were sweet underneath that. Steve giggled under him and Bucky tried to chase his natural taste under that of the water’s. Bucky’s skin was cold from the air on his bare torso, but Steve’s hands on his chest were hot and Bucky dragged him in until the warmth of his body chased away the chill.

 

“Are you going to come out of there?” Bruce called.

 

Bucky was fit to ignore him, but Steve pulled back and turned his head away, so the only thing left to kiss was his neck and Bucky wasn’t about to start doing that in front of someone. He reluctantly straightened up with a scowl.

 

“You’ll catch your death of cold,” Bruce added, his hands cupped over his mouth.

 

“Come on,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky’s arm and tugging.

 

“Lemme get my shirt,” Bucky said quickly when he remembered that he wasn’t wearing it.

 

“It’d be easier to dry if it weren’t on you,” Steve told him, but handed it over. He picked up his headscarf, too, and tied it back on. “He’s already seen, Buck.”

 

Bucky tugged it on over his head, but Steve was right, the light would have bounced off his silver arm and it would have been obvious. As they neared the shore even, Bucky could see the worry in the monk’s eyes.

 

They climbed the rocky shore and Steve stopped to wring the hem of his skirt. Bruce backed away.

 

Bucky tugged the glove off his left hand, then his right, and tossed both down next to his armor and belt. He held the silver hand up for Bruce to see and he looked Bruce in the eye.

 

“Go on,” he told him.

 

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Bruce stated.

 

“Yep,” Bucky agreed.

 

“What’s more, the White Wolf, too,” Steve said, then flicked both of his wrists and flames appeared in his palms. “Bucky, come here and let me dry you off.”

 

“Dry yourself first,” Bucky answered. “The cold won’t bother me for a minute or two.”

 

“Nonsense,” Steve replied. “Get over here.”

 

Bucky huffed, but walked closer. Steve beckoned him with his flaming fingers and Bucky stopped right in front of him.

 

“They won’t burn you,” Steve said, holding the flames close to Bucky’s shirt. “Hold out your hands.”

 

Bucky didn’t hesitate. Steve poured flames into his palms, and rather than burn, they simply tickled. Bucky held them closer, marveling in the heat, and Steve flicked the fire from his hands like it was dirt. The flames spread over Bucky’s shirt and trousers and raced to cover his whole body, not burning, just warm.

 

“There,” Steve said happily. “See how easy that was?”

 

“Alright, alright, you’re right,” Bucky chuckled.

 

“Of course I am,” Steve answered. “I’m always right.”

 

Bucky laughed again. He looked down and watched the fire licking so harmlessly at his clothes; it didn’t even heat the metal of his left hand. He watched the fire curling the hairs on his flesh arm with fascination.

 

“Anyway, are you going to cause a fuss about Bucky, Bruce?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky looked up; first at Steve, then at Bruce.

 

“Because if you are,” Steve continued, “I won’t hesitate to stop you.”

 

“Stop me…?” Bruce echoed faintly.

 

“Stop you,” Steve repeated.

 

Steve drew himself up to his full height, barely coming up to Bucky’s shoulder and dripping wet – He looked like a cat someone had dumped water on, ready to start snarling and ripping everything to pieces with his claws the second he got over the shock.

 

Bucky abruptly laughed again. Steve turned to look at him, affronted, and Bucky grabbed him by the waist to plant a kiss on his cheek. Steve spluttered, exactly like a wet cat, and Bucky just kissed his cheek again.

 

“Look, doll,” Steve said in a loud, offended tone, “I know you have needs and all, but I’m trying to threaten somebody here!”

 

“And you’re real cute doin’ it,” Bucky chuckled.

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve told him, giving him a shove.

 

“Please,” Bruce said, “carry on threatening me.”

 

Steve glared at him. He threw out a finger and fire leapt up into a ring around Bruce’s feet. Bruce yelped and jumped onto one foot, as the flames grew four feet high and started to shrink in.

 

“You’re getting good at that,” Bucky remarked, remembering a few weeks back when Steve could hardly create sparks.

 

“Thank you,” Steve answered, “now shut up.”

 

Bucky mimed locking his mouth and dropped the imaginary key into the lake.

 

“As I was saying,” Steve said.

 

“I warn you!” Bruce called in a reedy voice. “It’s a very bad idea to make me angry!”

 

“I’m not trying to make you angry,” Steve said simply.

 

He snapped his fingers and the ring of flames widened a little, but grew taller at the same time. Bruce was beginning to sweat.

 

“Bucky was enslaved to the Red Skull with evil magic,” Steve told the nervous monk firmly. “The Red Skull removed his thoughts and will entirely and replaced them with his own! Bucky’s a normal man, he could never have broken free of that enchantment until the Cretans shattered the power source of the curse and the minute they did, he ran!”

 

“I’m not exactly a normal man, sweetheart,” Bucky broke in.

 

“Didn’t I tell you to let me threaten him?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky sniggered again. Steve jabbed a finger in his face, but the flames on his skin never flickered in the amount of heat they were producing and Bucky could never have worried Steve would really hurt him.

 

“Are they supposed to be doing that?” Bruce called worriedly.

 

Bucky and Steve looked back at him. Or they tried; the flames had risen higher than his head and were climbing still.

 

“Oh, shit,” Steve muttered, then clapped his hands. The flames did not respond. Steve clapped his hands again, then stomped a foot and then snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. “Oh, fuck you!” Steve called to the fires.

 

The flames extinguished. Bucky fell to the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

 

“Huh,” Steve said speculatively. “Would you look at that?”

 

Bruce slowly lowered his hands and set his raised foot back on the ground. “Could you, very please, never do that again?”

 

“Promise you won’t rat Bucky out to the Cretans,” Steve countered.

 

“It hadn’t crossed my mind,” Bruce said weakly.

 

“Oh,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky rolled onto his back as he continued to laugh, sticking his feet in the air. Steve turned and backhanded the sole of his right foot.

 

“Quit being a jackass!” he called.

 

Bucky let his legs fall to the ground and he sprawled on the rocks, trying to get his breath back. Steve glared at him and Bucky burst into renewed laughter.

 

“I’ll set you on fire for real!” Steve threatened.

 

“G’ahead, sweetheart,” Bucky wheezed.

 

“Don’t think I won’t!” Steve insisted, stomping over to look straight down at him.

 

Bucky dropped his arms onto the ground and look up at him frankly. “You know I won’t do a thing about it,” he told him with a smile.

 

Steve curled his lip up in a scowl. “Oh, fuck you,” he muttered, giving Bucky a half-hearted kick to the ribs.

 

Bucky just laughed again. Steve grabbed his hand and tugged on him until Bucky rolled over onto his knees and pushed up. There, he simply wrapped his arms around Steve and hugged him tightly.

 

“Thank you for threatening someone for me,” he purred into Steve’s ear. “It was very nice of you.”

 

“Pfft,” Steve answered, “stop smothering me.”

 

Bucky wrapped Steve in a tighter hug and lifted him off his feet, rubbing his face into Steve’s head and grinning. Steve squirmed in his arms, starting to swear at him, and Bucky simply lifted him higher.

 

“Put me down!” Steve yelled.

 

“In a minute, sweetheart,” Bucky laughed.

 

“You know, we really should be moving forwards,” Bruce called.

 

Steve continued to writhe and twist in Bucky’s grip. “He had a point!”

 

“Fine,” Bucky sighed, and set Steve back on his feet.

 

Steve jumped away and leveled a finger at him. Bucky sniggered.

 

“The spell?” Bruce said.

 

Steve dropped his finger and sighed. “Spell,” he muttered and walked over.

 

Bucky followed Steve and Bruce held out a scroll neither of them had noticed before. Steve took it from him and pulled free the strings holding its shape, then unrolled it and laid it onto the round stone in the center of the ritual space. Bucky neared to look over his shoulder and Bruce stepped to another end of the round stone.

 

“It requires a sacrifice,” Steve said.

 

“Bloodletting,” Bruce agreed, then mimed cutting his palm. “Proof that you are serious in your intentions.”

 

Steve nodded absently. “Do you have the candles and crystals required?”

 

“Yes, they’re here,” Bruce told him. “You won’t need any special robes or anything, but you might wish to loosen your corset.”

 

Steve made a quiet hum of agreement and waved a hand at Bucky. Bucky glanced towards Bruce, then stepped behind Steve and started carefully loosening the laces at the back of his red tartan gown.

 

“It will take an hour?” Steve asked.

 

“It should,” Bruce affirmed.

 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Steve asked then, finally looking up.

 

Bucky lifted his eyes as Bruce was silent. The monk looked down at the heavy scroll, a finger touching its edge as if to mimic a paperweight, and a heavy frown creased his face.

 

“You have to believe it will,” Bruce said finally. “You must believe in the Morrígan’s power.”

 

Steve turned his eyes back on the scroll. He exhaled and straightened up, and for the first time, Bucky noticed that his shoulders were slightly slanted down to the right like his spine couldn’t fully straighten. Bucky felt sorry for Steve.

 

“Then let’s do this,” Steve said.

 

Bruce gave a nod and walked away. Steve backed up a little, turning towards Bucky, but looked down to loosen the laces at the front of his gown. Bucky watched him, feeling a little anxious, and then Steve cut off the gentle flames drying both of their clothes with a snap of his fingers. Bucky was left feeling warm even without the fire and he stepped closer to slip his arms around Steve’s shoulders. Steve returned the hug, reaching around his waist and pressing his cheek into Bucky’s worn shirt, and Bucky let his chin rest on top of Steve’s head.

 

“This is supposed to last three sunsets,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky nodded lightly.

 

“If I –” Steve started, then stopped and didn’t finish.

 

Bucky didn’t question him. He lifted his chin and kissed the white scarf covering Steve’s hair, then nuzzled into it gently.

 

“It should only last three days,” Steve murmured.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky said.

 

Steve pulled back, but only to look up at him. Bucky lifted a hand and touched his cheek.

 

“Will you still…?” Steve said, then stopped and bit his lip.

 

“Still what?” Bucky asked, frowning.

 

Steve’s gaze slipped and he looked pained. “Want me?” he mumbled.

 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Will I still want you?” he repeated, dumbfounded. “Steve – It’ll still be _you._ ”

 

“But I’ll be different,” Steve insisted. He pressed back in and smushed his cheek against Bucky’s chest. “And what if it’s permanent?”

 

Bucky kissed Steve’s headscarf again. “I will still want you,” he promised. “It will still be you.”

 

Steve nodded a little. Bucky tightened his grip somewhat, his cheek resting on Steve’s head, and saw Bruce nearing with his arms laden with heavy red candles. Bucky watched him set them up, nine at all nine points dividing the round stone, then cross away again to return with five crystals, black pillars shot through with veins of red.

 

“Steve?” Bruce prompted.

 

Steve pulled back and Bucky let him go. Steve climbed onto the round stone, then settled on his knees in the center of it and took the crystals from Bruce. He arranged them in a smaller circle within the candles, then picked up the scroll and read through it for a minute before snapping his fingers. All nine candles lit at once.

 

“Neat trick,” Bucky commented.

 

Steve looked up and threw a smile his way and Bucky felt satisfied just to have brought out a bit of lightness in his Omega in this tense air. Bruce then touched a hand to his shoulder and Bucky allowed himself to be guided out of the stone circle.

 

Steve knelt in silence for a while, long enough that Bucky put his boots and armor back on, and was buckling on his enchanted belt when Steve finally started to speak.

 

It was funny, Bucky could see Steve’s lips moving and hear his voice, but the words eluded him. He stood on the edge of the circle, watching Steve perform the spell, but soon the candle smoke began to form a barrier and Bucky couldn’t see much of anything anymore. Bruce sat on a rock, his eyes shut and his lips clearly moving in a silent prayer, but Bucky stood there, still trying to watch Steve casting the transformative spell.

 

The hour was nearly up. Bucky was anxious but stood very, very still. Even the waterfall seemed to sense the gravity of the situation, for its roar had dimmed to a distant hum. Or perhaps that was the heavy aura of magic in the air. The hairs on the back of Bucky’s hand were standing up, even the hair on his head felt full of static energy and stray strands drifted in and out of his vision here and there. The magic was a palpable charge in the air, warning him, perhaps, to not move a muscle.

 

So he didn’t move a muscle.

 

Then the glow of the crystals in the room brightened and Bucky twisted around to see that Macha’s broadsword was shining brightly and Anann’s lantern had gone out. The broadsword’s light started to burn his eyes and he lifted a hand to shield them, then abruptly the glow condensed into a beam that shot out from the base of the blade and Bucky jerked around again to watch it strike the barrier of candle smoke shielding Steve from view. Bucky jolted as to run forward but Bruce grabbed his wrist and held onto him tightly. The light lasted for almost a minute, then died as quickly as it had grown.

 

The candles went out. Steve was leaning over his knees, his palms flat on the rock, clearly panting for breath. Bruce’s grip loosened on Bucky’s wrist and he was running, skidding to a halt by the round stone and pulling Steve upright.

 

He didn’t look much different. Steve blinked blearily at him, his eyes unfocused, but his face was almost the same. His jaw was a little thinner, his cheeks somewhat rounder, and that was all Bucky saw different in him. Until he looked down and saw waves of cornsilk pouring out of the scarf that had covered his previously short hair and a roundness to his chest that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispered in a voice that was fainter than Bucky was used to. “Oh, that feels weird.”

 

“Are you –” Bucky started, then jerked his gaze away from Steve’s brand new breasts and looked him in the eye. “Are you okay?”

 

“I think?” Steve muttered. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his face, then jerked and pulled it out, to its full length some two feet away from him. “Holy fuck,” he repeated.

 

Bucky pushed the candles and crystals out of the way and climbed onto the rock. He hastily rose to block Steve from Bruce’s view, then pulled the scarf off of his head and started twisting Steve’s suddenly long hair into a clumsy braid. There would be time to comb and treat it well later, for now, Bucky didn’t want anyone seeing Steve’s unbound hair. Steve leaned on him, still breathing hard, as Bucky plaited his hair quickly. When he’d reached the end of Steve’s hair, _nearly two feet!,_ Bucky pulled a ribbon from pouch #5 to tie off the braid, then pulled it up into a bun at the base of Steve’s neck and covered his hair again with the scarf.

 

“Thank you,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky simply kissed his forehead. “Of course.”

 

He heard Bruce’s footsteps and took another second to fix the gaping front of Steve’s clothes to cover his new cleavage. Steve didn’t even seem to notice. Bruce came around their sides and looked with awe at Steve.

 

“It worked,” he said, as though he hadn’t believed it even would.

 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered.

 

His voice wasn’t all that different, Bucky reasoned. It wasn’t precisely feminine, but neither was it very masculine. He sounded just the same, only a few notes higher in pitch.

 

“How do you feel?” Bruce asked.

 

Steve glanced at the monk, then down at himself and shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

 

“We should wait until the morning to leave,” Bucky decided. “So you can get used to – to being like this.”

 

Steve just nodded. Bruce stepped closer and started collecting the candles and crystals, and when he had, Bucky slipped off the round stone and helped Steve off of it as well.

 

Standing, Steve was the same height. But his figure was different, his hips were wider and his shoulders thinner than before. Bucky didn’t know what he had expected. Steve truly looked like a woman now.

 

“You should put your shoes back on,” Bucky said softly to him.

 

Steve nodded. He sat back on the stone again, leaning on his hands over his lap, and Bucky walked away to gather up Steve’s stockings and boots. While Bruce’s back was turned, Bucky knelt in front of Steve and started working his stockings back onto his foot.

 

Steve lifted his leg at the knee. Bucky didn’t flip Steve’s skirt up, but he did push his hands up it to pull the stocking taut over Steve’s knee and it still felt incredibly intimate. Wordlessly, he did the same with Steve’s other stocking, then helped him into his boots and laced them up.

 

“It feels so weird,” Steve whispered to him.

 

Bucky smoothed Steve’s skirts over his boots, then dropped a kiss onto his knee. “I’m sorry,” he told him.

 

Steve just shook his head. He stood up, wobbled, and Bucky jumped to his feet to steady him.

 

“Gods,” Steve hissed under his breath. “It feels so weird!”

 

“Do you want me to carry you?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve shook his head. He hugged himself, shivering, and Bucky reached back into pouch #5 for the fur plate and draped it over Steve’s shoulders. He hugged it to himself with a grateful nod and Bucky put an arm around his waist to steady him further.

 

“Come on,” Bucky murmured, starting to walk him away.

 

Bruce picked up the two candles that they’d brought and Bucky took one from him. Bruce lead the way again and they were slower this time as Steve walked with unsure feet.

 

“My boots are too big,” he said at some point.

 

Bucky only tightened his arm around him. “It’s only for three days,” he reminded him.

 

Steve said nothing else. They were silent the rest of the way out.

 

As they finally ascended into Bruce’s home, Bucky guided Steve to a nearby cushioned bench. Bruce put down his candle and disappeared into a side room, returning a moment later with bread and cheese on a wooden platter.

 

“Here,” he said, setting it next to Steve. “Build your strength back up.”

 

Steve took some of the cheese and nibbled at it. Bucky slipped onto the bench behind him and braced his back with his chest, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder. Steve finished the lump of cheese he was eating, then nudged Bucky and held out some bread to him.

 

Bucky took it without much further prompting and ate. Bruce vanished again, returning with salted meats that the three of them shared along with the bread and cheese in silence.

 

“We’re leaving at dawn,” Bucky said eventually.

 

“I’m coming with you,” Bruce said.

 

Bucky jerked his gaze to the monk. Steve looked at him more slowly.

 

“You are?” Bucky questioned suspiciously.

 

Bruce nodded. “I want to help you. I can help you. I want to see the Cretan Empire burned to the ground.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. He still couldn’t help but distrust Bruce. Everything seemed almost too good to be real.

 

“Do you have a tent?” Steve asked then.

 

“Yes,” Bruce said.

 

“Put it in the wagon,” Steve said then, tearing off a new strip of meat.

 

“Why do you want to help us?” Bucky demanded.

 

Bruce blinked. “The Morrígan has shown me that this is my path.”

 

“That’s it?” Bucky pushed.

 

“That’s it,” Bruce agreed. “The Emperor plans to conquer all of Cadör, just the same as the Red Skull did, but The Emperor is driving worship of our gods into exile. You were right when you said no one serves the Morrígan anymore. I am the last of her servants, and so it is my duty to restore her church to fruition again. The only way I can do that is by helping you defeat the Empire.”

 

Bucky watched him carefully, but there was nothing but honesty in Bruce’s eyes.

 

“Alright,” he said eventually. “You’ll come with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*jazz hands* magic_


	11. THE CURSE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lol saturday is almost over whoops_
> 
> **Content warnings: groping/assault**

##  _[THE CURSE]_

  


The evening took Steve and Bucky back up to the second floor, leaving the newest member of their party to sleep his last night in his own bed on the first floor. Steve was still unsure on his feet and Bucky kept his arm around Steve’s waist to steady him. In the room they’d taken, Steve pulled away from him and nearly fell onto the bed.

 

Bucky knelt in front of Steve as Steve covered his face with his hands; they were thinner, much like the rest of him, and smaller, too. Steve was still, his shoulders shaking only with his breathing, and eventually, he lowered his hands to look at them.

 

“It’s only for three sunsets,” Bucky reminded him. “Two more and then you’ll change back.”

 

Steve didn’t answer him. He reached up and pulled the scarf off his head, then released his hair and started unbraiding it. Bucky shifted back to sit on a hip and watched, feeling as though he shouldn’t be there. By tradition, he shouldn’t; he and Steve were not yet married and so he had no right to witness this, the unpinning of Steve’s hair into loose locks. But Bucky didn’t want to move.

 

Steve combed through his long hair with his thinner fingers, looking at it with wide eyes. There was a level of apprehension in his eyes that made Bucky even more nervous.

 

“I grew my hair out once before,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“It was after I presented,” Steve continued. He threaded his fingers through the lengths of his hair again, watching as though in awe as it slipped through his knuckles and lay pooling on the bed around him. “Before I joined the Red Room. Mami told me it was my choice whether to keep it short or grow it out, that even if tradition said I had to stop cutting it, I could decide what to do with it. My mother – My mother suspected for a long time before she died that I would present as an Omega. She warned me, taught me both what would be expected of me if I was an Alpha or an Omega. But she never told me that I would have to decide whether to leave my hair short or let it grow.”

 

Bucky lifted a hand, then pulled it back. Steve stared at his hair covering his palms, then slipped from the bed to sit in front of him. Bucky saw him hesitating and was nervous himself.

 

Then Steve shifted to put his back to him and pulled his hair back over his neck and shoulders, letting it fall down his back in pale, golden waves. It touched the floor, pooling like silk.

 

“Will you comb it?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky lifted his flesh hand again. He stopped, just inches from Steve’s hair, then moved again. He cupped a handful of it and pulled it back, letting it slip through his fingers.

 

He reached down towards pouch #5, then paused again. He let go of Steve’s hair and reached for pouch #12 instead. He drew from it a silver brush, its bristles made of stiff but soft white hairs and its back inlaid with mother of pearl and smooth, flat opals. He had picked it up years ago, found it in the manor house of a duke he’d been paid to kill and took it without thinking about it, about its significance and how he had then assumed he’d never give it to an Omega. He had just taken it.

 

Bucky lifted the brush, hesitated yet again, then set it in Steve’s long tresses. He ran it down the length of Steve’s hair, the bristles sliding along smoothly without finding knot or snag, then lifted it again and continued to brush through Steve’s hair. Steve bowed his head a little as Bucky brushed his hair, his eyes eventually closed and some of the tension slipped from his shoulders.

 

Bucky didn’t know if this intimate ritual had lost any of its meaning over the past ninety years. Obviously, Omegas still bound and covered their hair in public, so there was still some significance to the act of an Omega releasing their hair for their Alpha’s eyes, but hair-combing itself was on a further level. In his time, an Omega did not uncover their hair until the wedding night. The final and seventh courting gift was always an ornate brush like the one Bucky now used to tenderly comb through Steve’s hair. The wedding night was meant to begin with the Omega releasing their hair and their Alpha lovingly brushing through it for the first time.

 

Of course, this wasn’t their wedding night and Bucky did not brush Steve’s hair as the beginning of a marriage’s consummation. But he did it with just as much reverence and respect as he would have if it were their wedding night. He did not ask if the traditions of hair-combing had been abandoned since his childhood and Steve did not say. Bucky brushed Steve’s hair smooth and continued to brush it even after that, not wanting the moment to end.

 

“I did grow it out,” Steve spoke again abruptly.

 

Bucky did not pause. “You did?” he asked, if only to encourage Steve.

 

“It was almost unintentional,” Steve said. “I didn’t decide what I wanted to do and one day it was touching my shoulders. After that, I just let it go.”

 

Bucky carried on carefully combing Steve’s hair. “What made you decide to cut it again?”

 

Steve didn’t answer at first. Bucky pulled the brush through Steve’s hair again, using his left hand to wield the brush and his right to touch and enjoy the silkiness of Steve’s hair.

 

“When I joined the Red Room,” Steve answered eventually. “The madam told me I couldn’t leave it long. It would be more enticing if I cut it.”

 

Bucky didn’t have an answer to that, so he said nothing. Steve’s hair was certainly brushed smooth, but he continued to comb through it anyway.

 

“I think I like it better short,” Steve said quietly.

 

“I like it better however you want it,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve bowed his head again. Bucky finally set down the brush and set his fingers at Steve’s temples, gently tipping his head back and to one side. His mother had taught him a variety of braids when he was a boy as preparation, having him practice on his sisters and eventually tasking him with ensuring that their hair was always appropriately pinned back while they were children. His sisters grew up one by one, but they had all been younger than him and Bucky had left to join the army before even one of them presented. They were all dead by the time he came to his senses in the future.

 

Bucky sectioned off a lock of hair at Steve’s temple, then divided it into three and begun braiding it down, picking up new locks at every new twist. When he reached the base of Steve’s neck, Bucky divided Steve’s hair into two sections and tied off the braided part. Then he turned Steve’s head again and did the same on the other side, and when he met the first braid, he untied it and wove the two braids together in a single plait. He tied it off with the ribbon, then set his hands at Steve’s shoulders and bent forward to press a kiss to the braid he’d woven. It was long enough that when he finished, the tail of it still touched the floor.

 

Steve exhaled audibly. Bucky touched his forehead to the back of Steve’s head, nose tucked into the beginning of the plait, his hands still resting on Steve’s shoulders. After a minute, Steve reached up and crossed his arms to touch Bucky’s hands. Bucky wondered again if anyone still did hair-combing for their wedding nights.

 

“I want to sleep,” Steve said.

 

Bucky nodded, his eyes shut.

 

“But,” Steve added, “I want to – to see what I…”

 

Bucky pulled his hands back. “I’ll step out,” he said.

 

Steve nodded. Bucky pushed to his feet, then picked up the ornate brush that he would eventually gift to Steve and put back in the pouch of loot at his belt for the time being. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Bucky walked away from the door, towards the stairs where he sat down. He looked down the stairs for a moment, thinking about courting gifts instead of what Steve was now doing in the room he’d left. Bucky reached into pouch #12 and just shifted through the things in it, trinkets and jewelry he had picked up over the past forty years and hadn’t sold away with for some reason. He had amulets and rings and bracelets and brooches, pins, earrings, septum rings, body chains and jewels plenty. He collected shiny things and then never did anything with them.

 

Steve’s third gift had to be an amulet. Bucky dug around in pouch #12, then drew out a silver necklace. The fine silver networking held nine rubies, forming the three-pointed knot that was the symbol of the Morrígan. It had a very old, now weak enchantment on it to promote good health that probably, at its age, would do little more than ward off pimples. He held it up to the light, then lowered it to hold in his palm and tipped his head just to look at it.

 

Given the day’s events with the Morrígan, it would make a fine third gift.

 

Behind him, Bucky heard Steve knocking on the closed door. Bucky dropped the necklace back into its pouch and pushed up, crossing the floor back to the bedroom and opening it. Steve was dressed only in his white undergown now, his feet bare and the dress hanging loosely around him. Even still, his newly feminine figure stood out; the collar of his dress was pulled away from his throat by his bosom and his hips caused the skirt to rise above his ankles. His braid, pulled over his shoulder, fell to his hips.

 

Steve didn’t look at Bucky, simply walked to the bed and laid down. Bucky removed his leathers and boots, then picked up the fur plate and his enchanted cloak and got onto the bed beside Steve. Steve lay with his back to him and Bucky hesitated before setting a hand on his waist.

 

“You wanna spoon?” Bucky offered quietly.

 

Steve let out a soft, nearly musical laugh. It sounded very unlike him. Steve flicked his long braid over his shoulder and it hit the bed with a heavy thump, then he shuffled back and Bucky shifted forward until Steve’s back was pressed to his chest. Bucky pushed his flesh arm under Steve’s head and lay his silver arm over his waist, tucking his hand between Steve’s ribs and the bed. Bucky pulled the cloak over them, then the fur plate, and settled his nose into Steve’s hair.

 

“Goodnight,” he murmured.

 

Steve didn’t answer. Bucky wondered if his new voice distressed him, but didn’t ask.

 

Steve did eventually sleep, but it took a long time. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to sleep, too worried about the morning to come. They would have to leave Hel’s Kitchen. They would face the reason Steve had had to magically transform his body into that of a woman’s.

 

Bucky was dreading having to watch Steve be violated and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Ninety years ago, if anyone had laid a hand on Bucky’s Omega or even one of his sisters in the way he knew the Cretan soldiers would do, Bucky would have had the right to cut off their hands there and then. Any Yorkeish soldier would have offered up their dirk for the task. Times had changed drastically.

 

As the darkness condensed as it would just before dawn, Bucky sent a silent prayer to all the gods that Emperor Thanos would see even a fraction of the pain and shame he was rending upon the Omegas of his nation under the thin veneer of weeding out demons. He was even more angry that Thanos was not only determined to subject hundreds upon hundreds of women to this gross assault but to execute every male Omega and even female Alpha that might be found, just to find the last witch in Yorke. He knew that male Omegas and female Alphas were unique to Yorke and the Nordic holds, that the people of Cretus never knew anything different than their extremist ideology, but he couldn’t comprehend how heartless the Cretans could really be.

 

How could an entire nation agree to their Emperor’s idea of bodily searching every Omega to prove that they weren’t males in disguise? How could the Cretan Army agree to do it? Didn’t the men in Thanos’s service have sisters and daughters that they would sooner gouge out their own eyes than see them groped in such a way? Didn’t Thanos himself have daughters?

 

Bucky hadn’t put a lot of thought into who had employed him to seek out and kill Steve, but now that he thought about it, it had to have been the Emperor himself. It left him again marveling at how anyone could be so hellbent on conquering that they would put so much effort and evil into seeking the death of one young Omega. Steve hadn’t even been an active agent against the Cretans until after Thanos had sent Bucky to kill him. What was Thanos’s endgame?

 

The sunlight peeked through the window and made its way across the room slowly. Bucky knew he should wake Steve, that they should get on their way, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to delay having to stand back and watch helplessly as Steve was violated by strangers. He wanted to delay having to put Steve through that at all. He wished that they could have rendered Steve invisible and avoid it altogether, but there would have still been a risk that Steve would be detected and then they could be discovered. It was already lucky that it was getting cold enough that Bucky’s gloves and the heavy enchanted cloak he kept putting around Steve’s shoulders would go unquestioned, but an invisible person would draw immediate and deadly suspicion.

 

Eventually, the light touched the bed and Steve started to wake. Bucky felt his breathing change, then he stirs, and circled his arms around Steve a little tighter. Steve exhaled heavily then and Bucky knew he was fully awake.

 

“We should get up,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s hair, not wanting to agree. But he nodded and released his arms so Steve could sit up. Bucky rubbed a hand into his eyes, blinked, and focused on Steve’s braid. It had gotten messy during the night, and at any rate, it would need to be pinned up to hide it under Steve’s scarf.

 

Steve must have known this because he pulled the braid over his shoulder and released the ribbon. Then he shook his hair loose, combing out the braid with his fingers. Bucky got up from the bed and walked over to his belt, then dug through pouch #12 for the hairbrush. While he was there, he took out a set of pins, each set with a small pearl, before walking back to the bed.

 

“Here,” Bucky said, holding out the pins and the brush.

 

Steve stopped combing through his hair to take them. “Are these my next gift?”

 

“No,” Bucky said, then sat on the bed next to him. “Well, not your next gift. They will be yours, just not yet.”

 

Steve examined the hairbrush, touching the opals and the ornate silver work, then the pearls on each pin. “These are beautiful,” he said softly. “But they’re too expensive for us to have.”

 

“Then if anyone asks, they were a wedding gift,” Bucky decided. “From your rich uncle.”

 

Steve smiled a little. “Bruce did say he was the city’s healer,” he said. He looked back at the brush, then pushed it into Bucky’s hands and shifted to put his back to him. “Put it up for me?”

 

Bucky just took the brush and started to run it through Steve’s hair. The braid had saved it from getting tangled during the night, but there were a few snags here and there that the brush eased away. When he’d finished brushing it, Bucky gently pulled Steve’s head back and started to braid his hair in a simple weave, then twisted it into a knot at the back of his head and tucked the tail in. He took the pins from Steve and pushed them in, securing the bun, and the pearls sat in his hair beautifully.

 

Steve tilted his forward again and turned around. Bucky cupped his cheek and leaned in for a kiss, slow and tender and tired, even with the night’s rest behind them. Steve even tasted different now. His lips were somehow softer.

 

Steve pushed him back after a second and Bucky tipped their foreheads together.

 

“I wish this didn’t have to happen,” he said quietly.

 

Steve reached up and grasped the wrist of Bucky’s hand still pressed to his cheek. He gave Bucky a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes and squeezed his wrist.

 

“I wish it didn’t have to happen to anyone,” Steve said. “Let alone just to find me.”

 

Bucky swept his thumb across Steve’s cheek. “The Cretans will pay for it,” he promised. “This evil won’t go unchecked much longer, sweetheart.”

 

Steve nodded a little. Bucky kissed the tip of his nose, then lifted from the bed. He put his back to Steve and donned his leathers, finishing by buckling the enchanted belt around his waist, then turned back to find Steve dressed as well, or almost dressed. He was struggling with the laces at the front of his dress.

 

“You need help?” Bucky asked.

 

“I can’t fucking see!” Steve spat. He stuck his hips forward and his shoulders back and glared down his body at the laces, then gave a snarl of frustration and threw his hands down. “I can’t see my own stomach!” he hissed to the ground. “Because of these stupid –!”

 

He didn’t finish. Steve glared down at his chest, at his new breasts, with contempt in his eyes. Bucky walked over. He took the laces and Steve held very still while Bucky tightened them. Bucky was very careful not to touch Steve’s chest as he tied the laces at the top, both to be respectful and to avoid reminding Steve of the very things that had him so frustrated.

 

When Bucky was done, Steve just turned around and hugged his stomach, showing Bucky the laces in the back of his dress that weren’t tied either. Bucky simply took them and tightened them as well. Steve didn’t say another word.

 

Bucky bent and kissed the back of Steve’s neck when he was finished lacing him into his gown and Steve exhaled as his shoulders dropped. He turned back around and Bucky pulled him into a hug, resting his cheek against Steve’s hair.

 

“Only two days left,” Bucky reminded him.

 

Steve nodded into his chest. Bucky pulled back, then lifted Steve’s chin with a hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Steve sighed against his mouth, then sagged and hugged him again. Bucky circled his arms back around him without a word, dropping a kiss onto his hair.

 

“I’m not a woman,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s chest. “People always treat me like one, have ever since I turned out an Omega. But I’m not one.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky answered.

 

“I’m not a woman,” Steve repeated in a quieter voice.

 

“I’m sorry you’ve had to pretend to be one,” Bucky told him. “And I’m sorry anyone’s ever treated you like one. I’m sorry for ever treating like one.”

 

Steve didn’t reply. After a minute, he sighed again and pulled back. Bucky lifted the enchanted cloak off the bed and draped it over Steve’s shoulders, tucking him into it before taking the fur plate and shoving it back into pouch #5. Steve watched him, his face dejected. Bucky handed him his headscarf, and Steve tied it on, wrapping the sash of his scarf around his head and neck, then tucking the tails into the back of his dress.

 

“Time to go,” Steve said reluctantly.

 

Bucky took his hand. They walked out together, leaving one last set of footprints in the dust, to find Bruce sitting on the floor with his legs folded and his head tipped back. Three black crystals, much like the ones Steve had used in the transformative ritual the day before, floated in the air around his head.

 

“Hello?” Steve called quietly.

 

The crystals bobbed in the air, then sank to the floor. Bruce twisted around to look at them, then stood up and gathered up the crystals.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” Steve said. “You?”

 

Bruce nodded, tucking the three crystals into a burlap sack nearby. “I took the liberty of loading my things into your wagon already; except this, of course.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky said. “I want to get on the road.”

 

“What about breakfast?” Bruce asked as Bucky began for the door.

 

Bucky stopped halfway and looked back at him. Then at Steve, who shrugged.

 

“We can eat on the road?” Bucky said to Bruce, shrugging.

 

Bruce blinked a few times, then he shrugged as well. “If we must,” he said. “I have packed my food stores.”

 

Bucky just nodded, turning away again. He opened the door and held it for Steve, then followed him out. He heard Bruce’s footsteps behind him, but paid him no mind. In the stable, Bucky pulled a bag of grain out of pouch #10 and poured it into Patchouli’s food dish, then set about readying her. Steve entered the stall with him, walking to stand by Patchouli’s flank and petting her shoulder slowly. Patchouli huffed and flicked her ears and Bucky looked up to see Steve giving the horse a soft smile before resting his head on her neck. Patchouli simply carried on eating, ignoring both Steve leaning on her and Bucky brushing her down to dress her in the tackle.

 

Bruce neared the stall and leaned on the outside, silent. Patchouli lifted her head, chewing, then huffed and lowered it again to continue.

 

“She says you have weird ears,” Steve translated.

 

“Thank you?” Bruce said, frowning. “You can speak to horses?”

 

“Animals in general,” Steve answered. Bucky saw him begin threading his fingers through Patchouli’s mane, combing it. “Ones that have enough intelligence to understand human speech, anyway.”

 

“Fascinating,” Bruce said softly. “Which animals have you found to be the most communicative?”

 

Bucky heard Steve laugh softly.

 

“Wolves,” he said.

 

Bucky jerked up, feeling his ears turning red. Steve giggled and winked at him while Bruce looked between them, clearly confused.

 

“What wolf did you speak to that didn’t outright try to kill you before speaking?” Bruce asked.

 

“The one that walked up and started licking his balls in front of me,” Steve laughed.

 

“I didn’t do that!” Bucky claimed.

 

“You did!” Steve insisted.

 

“I only remember licking you,” Bucky said, jabbing a finger in his direction.

 

“There was a lot of licking,” Steve giggled.

 

Bucky jabbed the finger again. Steve sniggered some more.

 

“I’m very confused,” Bruce spoke up. “When was he a wolf?”

 

“The last full moon,” Steve said, looking back at the monk. “He’s a werewolf, remember?”

 

Bucky swept at Patchouli’s coat one last time, then dropped the brush into pouch #5 with a sigh. Bruce frowned at him and Bucky avoided his gaze.

 

“I hadn’t realized you were a true werewolf,” Bruce said. “Your arm –”

 

“Silver, yeah,” Bucky agreed. “They cut off my actual arm to replace it with this one so I’d develop an immunity.”

 

Steve looked at him, his eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted. “I thought –”

 

“That I lost it in battle?” Bucky said when Steve didn’t finish. He shook his head, returning to his task. “Hydra cut it off.”

 

“That’s despicable,” Bruce muttered.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Kinda the whole point of evil witches, innit?”

 

He lifted the collar for the tackle and Patchouli raised her head so he could strap it onto her. Neither Bruce nor Steve said anything else while Bucky dressed the horse. Bruce stepped out of the way when Bucky clipped a lead to Patchouli’s bridle and lead her out, Steve following while Bucky began hitching the horse to the wagon.

 

“So, what sort of things do horses say?” Bruce asked Steve.

 

“Mostly complaining,” Steve said.

 

Patchouli turned her head around and brayed angrily, baring her teeth and sending spittle flying. Bucky blinked, then dried his face off with his sleeve.

 

“Well, you do!” Steve insisted while Bruce wiped away the flecks of horse saliva on his cheek.

 

Patchouli brayed yet again. Bucky had the smarts to duck and Bruce got the brunt of the spittle. Steve, the bastard, was too short to be in range.

 

“Oh, pardon me,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “you complain and you fuss about me and Bucky eating and sleeping more regularly.”

 

Patchouli huffed and clapped a hoof against the ground.

 

“He sleeps almost every night now,” Steve told the horse defensively.

 

Patchouli flicked an ear. Steve gasped, clearly offended.

 

“I still sleep every night regardless if he’s awake, thank you very much!” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky colored and looked at his horse. “What are you implying?” he demanded.

 

Patchouli swiveled her head around to look at him. She blinked.

 

“Rude,” Steve called.

 

Patchouli snorted and face forward again. Bucky shook his head and pulled on her lead.

 

“I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap one of these days!” Steve said from behind them.

 

Patchouli huffed again as Bucky started hitching her to the wagon’s posts. She made eye contact with him at some point and blinked. Bucky just shrugged at her.

 

“I don’t speak horse,” he said, then carried on with what he was doing.

 

“She’s being crass,” Steve piped up, his voice and footsteps approaching.

 

Bucky cast him a glance, then focused on tightening buckles on the tackle. Steve neared and stopped right in front of Patchouli, looking at her crossly with his arms folded under his breasts. Bucky glanced back at him, then reminded himself not to be _rude_ and stopped looking at Steve’s chest. Even if they were weird to see on _Steve._ Steve was just glaring at the horse.

 

“What’s eating you?” Steve demanded of the horse.

 

Patchouli blew out her breath and tossed her head. Steve uncrossed his arms and instead set his hands on his hips, more defined now than before. Bucky had to stop looking at Steve; he kept staring by accident.

 

“Your tail doesn’t need combing that badly,” Steve told the horse. “And Bucky brushed you this morning and everything!”

 

Bucky leaned on one foot to peer at Patchouli’s tail. It wasn’t knotted or tangled, not especially. He shook his head and finished hitching her.

 

“Bucky, she says you used to braid her tail and mane,” Steve said then.

 

“Uh,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes.

 

“A long time ago?” Bucky said reluctantly. “When I first bought her?”

 

“Why are you fussing about that _now?_ ” Steve asked Patchouli.

 

Patchouli knickered again, stamping a hoof.

 

“The wagon’s making her life more difficult and she would like the convenience of a braided tail,” Steve told Bucky.

 

Bucky exhaled heavily, then ducked under the wagon’s shafts and drew a comb from his belt. “Might as well get some breakfast, boys,” he called, kneeling to start combing Patchouli’s tail from the bottom up. “This is gonna take a while.”

 

Steve crossed around and lifted himself into the cab of the wagon while Bruce approached more hesitantly. Bucky kept Bruce in the corner of his eye, feeling a little more antsy than usual, with all the dreading he was doing, and such antsy feelings required heightened vigilance. Particularly where strangers and their proximity to Steve were concerned.

 

“How long have you been able to communicate with animals?” Bruce asked Steve. His tone was polite, his body language curious. Bucky moved to kneeling, still watching Bruce from the corner of his eye as he combed Patchouli’s tail.

 

“My whole life, really,” Steve admitted. “My dam told me that my first conversation was with a hawk.”

 

“That must have been frightening,” Bruce said.

 

“Oh, she wasn’t happy,” Steve answered, laughing. “But I don’t remember it and apparently the hawk flew off the second she saw it. She said we were talking about magic.”

 

“Your mother could speak with animals as well?” Bruce questioned.

 

Bucky saw Steve nod. “She told me her mother could, too, and so could her mother. But my grandmother had a brother and apparently he couldn’t do any kind of magic at all, so it had to just be the Omega line that got it.”

 

“As the old tales say,” Bruce mused. “You asked about fair folk in the temple. Have you ever met one of them?”

 

Bucky straightened up fully then, shifting to look at Bruce and Steve as he carried on combing Patchouli’s tail. Steve looked a little worried; Bucky pushed the comb into his right hand rather than his left, just so he would be able to reach pouch #1 if necessary.

 

“Or perhaps you have fair blood?” Bruce pressed.

 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. Bucky let his silver hand drift towards pouch #1 and his hand crossbow.

 

“Your magic is very unique, Steve,” Bruce said gently. “Pyromancy isn’t seen in warlocks or sorcerers of the traditional schools.”

 

“It isn’t?” Steve muttered.

 

Bruce shook his head.

 

Steve sighed. “Yeah, must be,” he admitted. “I mean, my dam always told me stories, but – Bucky bought a chunk of raw hematite yesterday –”

 

Steve stopped and lifted the finger that had been burned by the metal. Bucky looked down, feeling a bit of shame on principle that his Omega had been harmed by his actions.

 

“I can control water, too,” Steve continued. “Earth, air. All the elements.”

 

“What can you do to air?” Bruce asked. “Can you cause wind?”

 

Steve shrugged. “I haven’t tried. I – I can stop the air.”

 

“Stop it?” Bruce questioned.

 

“Remove it,” Steve said, looking down.

 

“Oh,” Bruce said, leaning back.

 

Bucky let his hand dip into pouch #1. He did not feel the need to give warnings, but he was prepared to kill Bruce if he tried to, as Steve had said the day before, make a fuss.

 

“Fascinating,” Bruce muttered then. “How do you remove the air?”

 

Steve blinked. Bucky let his hand retreat from pouch #1, returning to the task of combing Patchouli’s tail so he could braid it.

 

“I’m not sure?” Steve said to Bruce.

 

“Could you show me?” Bruce asked.

 

Bucky looked up, raising his eyebrows. “You wanna choke, pal?”

 

Steve shot him a look while Bruce blinked. Then Steve snapped his fingers and a flame appeared at the tip of his index.

 

“Here,” Steve said, now holding up his other hand.

 

The flame at his fingertip sputtered. It shrank, flickered, and died.

 

“Fascinating,” Bruce whispered. “So, you create a small vacuum in the air, an invisible one?”

 

“What’s a vacuum?” Steve asked, looking at him curiously.

 

“Well, that requires a bit of explanation,” Bruce said. “See, a colleague of mine has this theory that everything is made up of something, down to the air itself. And since everything is made up of some sort of matter, then you could – theoretically – create a pocket of space and remove all the matter from it. He calls it a vacuum, from the Latin, _vacuus._ ”

 

“I never understood why the Cretan language had to be the scientific one,” Steve said.

 

“Well, my colleague is Cretan,” Bruce explained.

 

Bucky jerked a hand towards his belt, dropping the comb, and yanked a spear from pouch #1 to level it in Bruce’s face. Steve jumped away and Bruce threw up his hands.

 

“You’re overreacting, Buck!” Steve called.

 

“He’s not loyal to Thanos!” Bruce said quickly.

 

“Is this guy Cretan or not?” Bucky demanded. “I thought you were on our side!”

 

“I am!” Bruce insisted. “There are Cretans who do not agree with the Emperor, too!”

 

Steve grabbed the shaft of the spear and pushed it away from Bruce. “Not all Cretans are evil, Bucky,” he said firmly.

 

Bucky glared at Bruce, then jerked the spear back. He dropped it into pouch #1, maintaining his glower aimed at Bruce.

 

“What’s this colleague’s name?” Bucky asked sharply.

 

“Stark,” Bruce said. “He’s so not loyal to Thanos, he’s a leader in the resistance!”

 

Bucky scowled harder. If Bruce was telling the truth that his colleague _was_ a Stark, then Bucky really had overreacted.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly, bending to pick up the comb. “High tension.”

 

“Understandable,” Bruce said faintly.

 

Bucky resumed picking at Patchouli’s tail with the comb. It was almost finished, he just needed to run the comb through it a few times. Bucky didn’t need to do anything fancy with her tail, just plait it to get it controlled, and that wouldn’t take much longer.

 

“I’ve heard of the Starks,” Steve remarked, clearly trying to sound unruffled. Bucky felt a bit bad. “Though, they say the resistance is dying out.”

 

“Of course, they would say that,” Bruce answered him. “But their numbers are strong. Howard – my colleague, he is in the process of enchanting a suit of armor that will allow him to fly.”

 

“He’s a wizard?” Steve pushed.

 

“Well, of sorts,” Bruce said. “He is a man of science, but he is associated with those who can perform magic.”

 

“The rightful queen has magic, then?” Bucky asked, looking up. “Princess Margaret?”

 

“She does, yes,” Bruce said, nodding to him. “I met her only once, but she is a sorceress of powerful caliber.”

 

“What’s the difference between a sorcerer and a wizard?” Steve asked.

 

“Between sorcerers and wizards?” Bruce started, then shrugged. “Nothing. Sorcerers and _witches,_ however,” he added and Steve frowned. “I believe it is the origin of one’s magical ability,” Bruce told him. “The Lady Carter was born with a gift, but she still had to be taught from books.”

 

“The vampire we met called me a witch,” Steve said, dropping his gaze.

 

Bucky shifted his stance and reached over the wagon’s walls to touch Steve’s knee briefly, then returned and began plaiting Patchouli’s tail.

 

“Witches are not necessarily women,” Bruce reminded Steve. “I mean, a poor example, but look at the Red Skull. We call him a witch, do we not?”

 

“I guess,” Steve muttered.

 

“Witches are born, not made,” Bruce said. “They are born with magic either from fair blood or divine gift. A sorcerer must learn spells to practice their magic, but a witch – as you have shown – can use their magic in its raw form.”

 

“Witches are scarier,” Bucky added, looking up. “They can curse people without it backfiring.”

 

“I’ll curse you,” Steve threatened him, shaking a fist.

 

Bucky laughed. “What good would that do you, sweetheart?”

 

“I’ll curse you with really sensitive nipples,” Steve said, “that way you can never wear a shirt again.”

 

Bucky laughed again, shaking his head. “G’ahead, Stevie,” he answered, lowering himself to his knees to finish plaiting Patchouli’s tail.

 

“The ability of witches versus sorcerers to cast curses is fascinating,” Bruce broke in. “Have you ever cursed anyone?”

 

“Well,” Steve said, dropping the fist he’d still been shaking at Bucky. “Not really? I mean, my mother told me about it, but she told me to be careful with what I did and to who.”

 

“The Lady Carter, for example,” Bruce started, “could cast a curse on someone such as the Red Skull or the Emperor, as they have done so much evil in the world that the curse would be doing help to the world at large rather than harm. But she could never cast a curse such as sensitive nipples out of pettiness without it harming her cosmic energies.”

 

“Are you calling me petty?” Steve asked with narrowed eyes.

 

“No!” Bruce said quickly while Bucky sniggered. “I was just saying –”

 

“I’ll curse you with a never-ending hum,” Steve decided, then nodded firmly. “In fact, I do it right now. You’re going to hear a hum in the back of your mind that’s so annoying it will drive you insane.”

 

Bruce opened his mouth, then blinked and shut it. He frowned, peered off into the distance, then gasped.

 

“Until sunset,” Steve added smugly.

 

“Congratulations, you just cast your first curse,” Bucky said dryly, tying off the braid in Patchouli’s tail before standing. “Thank me later, horse,” he added to Patchouli, slapping her rump and ducking back under the shafts of the wagon.

 

“If this doesn’t go away by sunset!” Bruce said worriedly.

 

“It will,” Steve assured him, “I only have the patience to make it last that long.”

 

“Do witches have to be conscious of all their curses?” Bucky asked, climbing into the cab of the wagon. He waved a hand at Steve, who shifted into the center of the bench so he could sit. “Because that seems tedious.”

 

“I suppose I wouldn’t _have_ to be conscious of it for the whole duration,” Steve mused, reaching up and tapping his chin. “But I did specify right away that it would only last until sunset and I think I have to be conscious of it to end it.”

 

“Then what about that old witch that cursed your line to never be married?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve shrugged. “Clearly, it’s not working anymore.”

 

Bucky smiled for no reason, then ducked and kissed Steve’s cheek. Steve grinned but shoved him off and Bucky picked up the reins.

 

“C’mon!” he called to the horse.

 

Patchouli began a trot and Bucky steered her from the stables. Bruce twisted around to get one last look at his home, then turned to face the road with acceptance in his eyes.

 

“Here’s our story,” Bucky said sideways to Bruce. “You’re Steve’s uncle. His name is Susan, mine is James Smith. His mother is your sister, she lives in the north. Steve has another sister who is ill and we are rushing to the north to say goodbye to her before she dies.”

 

“Agreed,” Bruce answered. “My sister’s name is Jane, but she actually lives in the Nordic holds.”

 

“Do the guards know that?” Bucky prompted, then said a firm, “Good,” when Bruce shook his head.

 

As they entered the city’s streets and the distance between them and the gates shrank, so did Steve. He pressed into Bucky’s side, pulling his cloak tighter around him and the hood over his scarf. Bucky felt anger rising in his chest long before they neared the gates and the sound of shouting and crying could be heard.

 

Bucky pulled on Patchouli’s reins and she stopped in the road, waiting for their turn. Ahead of them, an older man was fighting with one of the soldiers to pull what was probably his daughter away from them. The soldiers were yelling, the father was yelling, the daughter was yelling.

 

A mounted soldier rode behind the old man and his sword flashed. Bucky blinked as the man slumped to the ground, his head falling from his shoulders. The girl screamed.

 

“Resisting searching will result in the same!” the soldier shouted above the sound of the girl weeping.

 

A boy pulled the old man’s body away from the road, but was chased off by other soldiers. The body was dragged off, then, to a pyre of other bodies just outside the gate. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve and held onto him tightly. They watched the soldiers drag away the screaming girl, her brother standing by their cart with hands fisted at his side, until she was pulled out of sight. Bucky heard her cheek being slapped and the girl’s screaming cut off, turning into whimpers he could still hear. Bucky bowed his head and turned into Steve, resting his forehead on Steve’s hooded head.

 

“Don’t fight them,” Steve whispered to him. “I’ll cry, but it’ll be an act. Don’t fight them.”

 

Bucky nodded reluctantly. He winced as the girl abruptly started screaming again, then looked up in time to see her being thrown into the road again by the soldiers, who were laughing. The girl’s brother caught her, then swung her up into the wagon and jumped up after her. The brother and the soldier in charge exchanged words, then the brother cracked a whip and their horse took off.

 

Bucky clicked his tongue at Patchouli as the line moved forward. He stared at their feet as the process was started all over again with the wagon ahead of them.

 

“The gods will rain their fury down,” Bruce hissed as the wagon ahead of the was emptied of five Omegas, all already crying. “This will not go unpunished.”

 

Bucky clicked his tongue at Patchouli, urging her forward a few steps. “I’ll rain fury down on them myself,” he swore quietly.

 

The Omegas were lead out of sight by the soldiers. The men were left standing with their hands fisted uselessly, glaring at the ground as they stood by, helpless.

 

There was more shouting, then a woman yelling for quiet and the Omegas were released, the oldest of them pulling the two youngest by the arms with a set jaw. Bucky watched one of the younger Alphas reach for a dirk as though by reflex but release it quickly as a soldier looked at him. Bucky clicked his tongue at Patchouli as they all got back in their wagon and the line moved forward once again.

 

“Step down from the cart,” a soldier ordered them.

 

Bucky tied the reins to the wagon, then stepped down and turned back to help Steve down. Steve walked into him, hugging him tightly, as Bruce got down as well and soldiers climbed in to search the cart.

 

“Step this way,” they were told.

 

Bucky pulled Steve with him, holding onto him tightly even though he knew he would just have to let go. His jaw was clenched, anger bubbled in him; this was unfair in the highest.

 

“Let go of the woman,” a soldier ordered.

 

Steve started to pull away. Bucky jerked him back in quickly, ducking his head to nuzzle his hood, then reluctantly let go. Steve stepped away and two soldiers took him by the shoulders, pulling him towards a few trees just outside the city’s walls. Bucky stood with his hands fisted at his sides uselessly, watching as best he could. The soldiers in their cart jumped down, walking off to watch as Steve was told to stand with his feet spread apart and his arms lifted. Steve kept his gaze on the ground and Bucky dug his own nails into his palms, feeling the claws of his right hand almost biting through the leather of his gloves.

 

The soldiers were speaking quietly, whispers that Bucky couldn’t make out, then one of them grabbed Steve between the legs and Steve yelped, jumping back reflexively. Bucky jerked, but another soldier grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, giving him a warning look from under his helmet. The soldiers with Steve laughed and one caught Steve by his arms, forcing him to stand still as the other grabbed between his legs again. Bucky trembled with the strain of standing still while Steve’s face turned white and he visibly began shaking in the soldier’s grip. The other soldier laughed yet again, then grabbed Steve’s breasts and squeezed. Bucky felt the fingers of his right glove splitting under his claws as he fisted his hands tighter. He could do nothing but stand there and watch.

 

“You’ve had your fun, Rumlow!” the soldier in charge called. “Bring her back!”

 

The two soldiers shoved Steve forward. Steve broke into a run and Bucky caught him, scooping him up and squeezing his arms around him tightly. Steve was trembling, his breathing uneven. The soldier that had violated Steve, Rumlow, was laughing still.

 

Bucky looked up and made eye contact with the man, memorizing his face. “I will cut off your hands one day,” he promised.

 

It was his right to defend the honor of his Omega, Cretan laws be damned; he was a man of _Yorke._ The laws and gods of Yorke demanded ten times the blood be shed for every tear spilled by the Omegas of their land. For every tear shed by every Omega, blood would be had. Bucky would have that man’s hands someday.

 

“I’d like to see you try!” Rumlow called.

 

Bucky lifted Steve into the wagon. He said nothing else, sitting down and pulling Steve into his side, he picked up the reins as Bruce got in beside him and Bucky snapped them, yelling at the horse. They left the soldiers laughing in their dust. Steve’s hand dug into the front of Bucky’s jerkin, his face still white.

 

When Bucky finally let Patchouli slow to a gentler trot, Steve buried his face in Bucky’s chest and took several, stuttering breaths. Bucky steered Patchouli to the side of the road and stopped her. Bruce got down from the wagon without a word and Bucky turned to face Steve on the bench.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

 

“No,” Steve muttered. “I didn’t – I thought –”

 

Bucky pulled Steve into his lap, locking his arms around him and tucking Steve’s face into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Steve shook in Bucky’s arms.

 

“I’ll cut off that man’s hands,” Bucky promised again. “I will. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

 

Steve drew in a long breath against his neck, then another, then sat up, wiping his face clean. Bucky loosened his grip, letting Steve turn his face to the sun and breathe in fresh air.

 

“His name was Rumlow,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky waited.

 

Steve reached into Bucky’s belt and drew a dagger from pouch #1. Bucky let him, confused but compliant. Steve looked at the dagger, then shifted on Bucky’s lap to face the rising sun behind them.

 

“You can cut off his hands,” Steve said in a bitter tone, raising the dagger to his palm. “But I’ll see him drown in his own blood.”

 

Bucky watched, his breath caught in his throat, as Steve shed his own blood and cemented the curse. Bucky hadn’t been exaggerating when he said witches were more terrifying than wizards or sorcerers could ever be. Blood magic was powerful and binding; oaths sworn on blood were the strongest promise anyone could ever make. Steve raised his bloody hand to the sun and shook his fist.

 

“For everyone he touches,” Steve spat, his words starting to echo unnaturally in the flatlands of the Yorkeish countryside.

 

Behind the cart, Bruce rose to his feet and watched, as awestruck as Bucky, as the air around Steve started to twist and pull at his clothes.

 

“For everyone any Cretan touches like that, I’ll see them all drown in their own blood,” Steve swore to the rising sun. “There will be a day when the full forces of Thanos will come against me and I will see them all cut down, and the faces of the Omegas they violated in the name of their Emperor will be their dying thoughts. I will see it!”

 

Dry lightning cracked in the distance. Bucky jerked and Bruce jumped around. Steve lowered his bloody fist.

 

“I will see it,” he hissed under his breath.

 

Bucky looked down as Steve opened his palm. There was still blood there, but there was no sign of the wound, only a scar.

 

“The Morrígan sees your oath,” Bruce called.

 

Steve wiped the blood and dagger onto his apron, staining it. Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulders, both frightened and amazed. Steve put the dagger back into Bucky’s belt, then twisted away from the rising sun – Was Bucky imagining it, or was it a shade redder than before? – and Steve set his head onto Bucky’s shoulder instead.

 

“The gods see your oath,” Bruce added, nearing again. He climbed into the cab of the wagon and settled next to Bucky. “It is binding.”

 

“Good,” Steve whispered.

 

“You’re scary sometimes,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve snorted. “Says the Winter Soldier.”

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m no witch,” he reminded Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the next chapter'll be here in like 20 minutes so hang tight_


	12. THE NARROWOOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _here comes another party member!!_

##  _[THE NARROWOOD]_

 

Traveling with Bruce proved to be pleasant, for lack of a better word. Bucky wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the monk was very courteous and helpful on the road. He helped Steve learn the spells and rituals and potions in the vampire’s spellbook, leant his divine magic to the wards at night, gathered healing herbs and plants almost as though by accident. Bucky now had almost as many medicinal plants in his belt as he did poisonous ones, but perhaps that was a good thing. Steve, it transpired, knew a lot about herbal medicine already and Bruce seemed to take him on as an apprentice after that. Bucky was glad for his Omega, and not just because that meant Steve now had a new craft as an herbalist and he could give him gifts according to that.

 

In the evenings after supper had been eaten and Bruce had given Steve a lesson, the monk retreated into his tent and Steve and Bucky retreated into theirs. Bucky was fine with this routine, because it gave him the opportunity to be tactile and affectionate in all the ways he’d been stopping himself from doing before the last full moon. Steve seemed perfectly happy to be smothered by Bucky’s hugs in the evenings, happy to curl up with him under their blankets and cloaks. Ever since Bruce’s house, Bucky and Steve slept back to chest, Steve’s body tucked between Bucky’s arms and Bucky’s nose buried in Steve’s hair.

 

The transformative spell did only last two days more. The third day, Steve ducked into his and Bucky’s tent by sunset and Bucky waited outside while the magic reversed itself. Only once the sun had vanished and darkness had fallen did Steve indicate he could come in and only then did Bucky enter the tent.

 

He found Steve lying on their bedrolls, looking haggard and worn. Bucky sat beside him and wrapped him up in his arms, tucking his nose into Steve’s neck and nuzzling him. Steve simply leaned on him, exhausted, and Bucky held him until he fell asleep.

 

In the morning, Steve seemed delighted to have back his actual body and Bucky had to admit, Steve’s bosom no longer bouncing with his every move gave him relief. He did miss Steve having long hair and getting to comb and braid it at night, but after the spell had ended, Steve’s hair was reaching his ears and he didn’t say anything about cutting it. Bucky didn’t mention it either; he didn’t want to influence Steve’s decision for his hair.

 

The journey was now slower with a third person, but surprisingly, Bruce’s presence as Steve’s so-called “uncle” made their story of traveling to visit Steve’s parents in the northwest more convincing. They were passed by soldiers on the road, but these did not demand Steve be searched, simply accepted Bucky’s story and continued on their way. Bucky was glad.

 

He was even more grateful when the vampire’s spellbook produced a glamor indeed powerful enough to hide their campsites from outward eyes entirely. It could only be cast on stationary objects and for the first few days, Steve needed Bruce’s assistance to cast it, but after a few weeks, it barely took Steve five minutes. Bucky couldn’t be prouder of him.

 

With the Cretans trusting Bruce’s presence as credibility to their story and Steve’s magical skills growing every day, Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised that their next obstacle wasn’t suspicious soldiers.

 

“That forest is cursed,” Bruce insisted.

 

“So I take watch at night,” Bucky answered. They were at a stalemate in the road, facing the wide expanse of the Narrowood. “It’s the fastest route across Cretus.”

 

“We should cut around it,” Bruce said for the tenth time.

 

“What’s so wrong with the wood?” Bucky demanded.

 

“There are fair folk in those trees!” Bruce hissed.

 

Steve looked a little offended. “So?” he said, however. “We can deal with a few imps and dryads.”

 

Bruce still looked wary. “They say a darker creature inhabits these trees. A shapeshifter.”

 

“I’ve killed shapeshifters before,” Bucky said, then snapped Patchouli’s reins.

 

“Not just any shapeshifter!” Bruce said, clutching to his holy symbol under his robes. “An ancient one!”

 

“The wagon has iron nails,” Bucky told him, “and cunning folk or no cunning folk, the Narrowood takes up half of the old Cretan border. We’d be seeing snow before we reach the West Mountains if we don’t take the path.”

 

“Roads through this forest do not lead out,” Bruce whispered. “They lead in only!”

 

“Do you forget that I can see through glamors?” Bucky reminded him. “You’ll stink up the whole forest with your fear, calm down.”

 

“Here –” Steve said, reaching into a pouch at Bucky’s belt.

 

Bucky hardly reacted, by then used to Steve digging around in his enchanted belt. Steve took a small cup from pouch #5, then herbs from pouch #10. He held the cup between his knees and rolled the herbs between his palms, before dropping them in and tapping his fingers against the rim. Water rose in it, then steam curled from its surface and Steve handed the tea to Bruce.

 

“Lavender and sweet mint,” Steve said.

 

“For nerves,” Bruce muttered, then smiled weakly. He took the cup from Steve and sipped it, then sighed softly. “It’s working already.”

 

Bruce said it, but Bucky could still smell fear on him. The shadows of the trees loomed closer and Patchouli knickered nervously as the road carried her closer to the Narrowood.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve called to the horse. “We’ll be safe as long as we stay on the road.”

 

Bucky held the reins in one hand and drew a quiver of iron-tipped arrows from pouch #1, then shifted the reins into his other hand and reached back to pull his full crossbow from the back of the wagon. He handed the crossbow and arrows to Steve, who calmly loaded it and held it at the ready in his lap. Bucky clicked his tongue again.

 

“How long will we be in the wood?” Bruce asked in a hushed tone as the shadows passed them.

 

“Maybe a week,” Bucky answered. “Probably more.”

 

Bruce did not appear any quieted. Bucky let Patchouli set her own pace, knowing the shadows did not endear her to this new road. Bucky turned his gaze to the edges of the thicket, to the way the earth was compacted as though it had been walked for decades, but when he turned back, he couldn’t see the opening in the trees where they had come from.

 

He didn’t like it, but he had expected it. Bruce was right; there were fair folk in these trees. Like it or not, they needed the Narrow Road, and they’d have to put up with the trees’ rules to take it.

 

The canopy soon became too thick for sunlight to reach through to them. Steve conjured fire and Bucky provided torches, fixing them to the wagon’s struts to light the way. Then Patchouli got spooked by something in the distance and Bucky had to get down and take the torch to walk her. Not long after that, Steve followed him, taking the elbow of the arm holding aloft the torch. Bruce stayed in the wagon. Bucky was glad for that.

 

Since he couldn’t see the sun setting, Bucky had to judge when to stop for the night by the others around him. Patchouli began to slow and Steve began leaning on him more heavily, and at that point, Bucky concluded it was time to stop.

 

He pulled back on Patchouli’s lead, then scattered oats on the road for her and turned back towards the wagon. Steve trailed behind him. Bruce, he found, was already asleep on the bench of the cab, which meant one less thing for him to worry about. He fixed the torch on the rails of the wagon, then climbed into the bed of it and cleared a space for him and Steve to sleep. There wasn’t room for both bedrolls, but they slept more on one than anything else.

 

“Can you cast the glamor on the wagon?” Bucky asked, holding out a hand to Steve.

 

Steve took it and Bucky pulled him up. Steve yawned then, before nodding and going to take out his spellbook. Bucky jumped back down and went to Patchouli, loosening her tackle a little to make her more comfortable during the night. He didn’t want to risk releasing her; her tackle had iron studs, which would repel any fae from trying to steal her, but if he unhitched the horse, she’d be gone by morning. Bucky, after giving her a bit of breathing room, left water and more oats for Patchouli before going back to the wagon’s bed. He lifted himself into it, then immediately sprawled out beside Steve, who was sitting up. Steve looked down at him with raised eyebrows and Bucky offered him a grin, laying his arm out to the side invitingly. Steve rolled his eyes, then shut them and straightened his posture.

 

Bucky watched him cast the spell, watched as shimmering purple light fell over the wagon and horse to the ground. As it settled, Steve opened his eyes, blinked, then yawned once more. Bucky sat up, crawled forward on his knees toward the cab and jostled Bruce’s shoulder.

 

“Wha–?” Bruce said, sitting up rapidly.

 

“Cast the protection blessing,” Bucky told him. “So we can sleep.”

 

Bruce blinked at him, then nodded. He sat up straighter, reached over into the bed of the wagon and dug out his burlap sack of spell supplies. Unlike Steve, Bruce had to light particular candles and use certain crystals before he could pray, and even then, it was the Morrígan blessing them, not Bruce.

 

Bucky watched him, aware that Steve was quickly falling asleep behind him and his hair was yet uncombed. It was nearly past his ears now, awkwardly long as Steve had said it would be but not too short to be ignored. While Bruce prayed, Bucky considered his options towards taking care of his Omega. He was fairly certain hair-combing was not the intimate ritual that it was when he was a boy, but even if that were the case, he wasn’t sure he wanted to comb Steve’s hair in front of someone else.

 

Bruce prayed quickly that night and a shimmering sheen of blue settled over them. Bruce put away his prayer tools, then bundled up a cloak and curled up on the bench again. Bucky considered him, then upon seeing he had just fallen back to sleep, he turned back to Steve.

 

Steve shifted onto his back and blinked up at Bucky. Bucky bent and kissed his forehead.

 

“Sit up,” Bucky said softly. “Let me comb your hair.”

 

Steve yawned, but pushed up. Bucky lay his legs out and pulled Steve against his chest, then took a brush from his belt; not the ornate mother of pearl and opal brush, a wooden one with boar’s bristles. Bucky set it at the back of Steve’s head, then worked his way out.

 

“Is this an old courting thing?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Something like that,” Bucky answered.

 

“You did it while I was transfigured,” Steve said. “Why not again until now?”

 

Bucky continued in brushing Steve’s hair. “Wasn’t long enough,” he said.

 

Steve was quiet. Bucky thought he might have fallen asleep sitting up.

 

“I think I’ll let it grow again,” Steve murmured. “I like this.”

 

Bucky leaned forward and kissed Steve’s shoulder. “I like that you let me,” he said, then kissed Steve’s ear and continued.

 

When Steve’s hair was silky soft under his fingers and Steve was swaying lightly, Bucky put the brush away and looped his arms around Steve’s waist. He lay back, pulling Steve onto his chest and then shifted onto his side. Steve allowed him to move him, and perhaps he was asleep already as Bucky pulled their blankets and furs over their bodies. It was cold in the forest, unseasonably cold. Bucky twisted to toss a fur towards the cab of the wagon, for Bruce when he woke from the chill. Then, Bucky lay down and settled his nose in Steve’s soft, cornsilk hair.

 

Though Steve slept and Bruce slept and there were enchantments to protect them, Bucky never closed his eyes. The forest made him just as nervous as it did Bruce. Maybe because Bucky had heard the same warnings about the Narrowood when he was a boy that Bruce did. Maybe because Bucky had heard even older warnings.

 

There, among the trees older than the sea that beat upon the rocks, lurked an ancient being of power so great, the gods themselves feared them. The two sisters that Macha had given birth to at the beginning of time. The twin Faerie Queens lurked in the Narrowood, and mortal men were their enemy. Bucky had fought shapeshifters. He had killed fae of all kinds, and while he didn’t believe that the oldest of the fae lay in wait for unsuspecting mortals within the Narrowood, he still didn’t trust the trees.

 

The trees were older than the Morrígan herself. The trees had been there before the gods walked the earth, and the trees would be there long after mortals left it.

 

There was no light to say that dawn had come, but Steve stirred in Bucky’s arms and Bruce sat up in the cab of the wagon. Bucky got up, took the torch from the rails, and went to walk the horse onward. Steve, again, joined him. They walked in silence.

 

The day passed, then the night. The next day was the same, as was the night. Bucky knew that if they kept heading west, they’d emerge from the forest eventually. He just couldn’t doubt that his internal compass could be tricked by the trees just as anything else.

 

It got colder the longer they were in the forest. On the ninth day of their walk through the Narrowood, Steve huddled close to Bucky with flames in his palms, the gentle kind that wouldn’t burn but would still warm. He’d tried to send it over his body and Bucky’s, but the sight of it had spooked Patchouli and they couldn’t risk her bolting. Still, Steve shivered.

 

Snow was beginning to fall. Bucky didn’t trust the cold any longer. It wasn’t natural. But he had no choice. They’d entered the Narrowood and the trees had narrowed behind them, cutting off the road. They could only go forward.

 

Steve’s teeth were chattering. Bucky swung his arm around Steve’s shoulders, holding the torch above Steve’s head, in the hopes that he might find some shelter from the cold under Bucky’s arm. Gods only knew that Bucky couldn’t provide him with warmth. It was the one thing he most desperately wished he could give to Steve, but knew he’d never be able to.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve hissed next to him.

 

“Let me?” Bucky asked, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

 

Steve exhaled through his chattering teeth, but didn’t argue more.

 

“This cold isn’t real,” Bruce said somewhere behind him. “Someone is causing it.”

 

“The trees,” Bucky said, looking around distrustfully. “They’re testing us.”

 

“They don’t need to test us,” Steve muttered.

 

“Of course they have to test us,” Bucky answered. “These are the oldest trees in Cadör, they would test even gods to walk through them.”

 

“Very astute,” a soft voice whispered in Bucky’s ear.

 

Bucky shoved Steve to the ground and drew a sword, brandishing his torch like a second weapon. Patchouli gave a terrified shriek and took off; Bruce toppled from the wagon to hit the snowy and muddy ground.

 

But he didn’t hit. Something snagged Bruce’s body and pulled him up, tangling him in what Bucky had assumed to be snow _like an idiot!_

 

Bucky shifted his stance to stand directly over Steve, ready to attack the next thing that moved. Spider silk covered the tree branches, not snow.

 

“Show yourself!” Bucky yelled.

 

Steve squirmed underneath him, arms circling one of his legs. Then fire broke into a ring around them, rising above Bucky’s knees. The fire would shield Steve from view, good.

 

“Show yourself!” Bucky yelled again, looking around wildly.

 

“Show myself?” the soft voice said then. A woman’s and Bucky automatically feared the old stories were right. “You demand anything of me, man?” the faerie woman’s voice asked.

 

A denser darkness seemed to condense above Bucky. Bruce’s body was slowly being twisted in white silk. Bucky lifted his torch higher and saw long legs curling Bruce into a cocoon.

 

“But you are not a man, are you?” the faerie called down to him while Bucky shifted his feet, wondering how to proceed against the giant spider ahead of him. “Neither are you a wolf. Something in between. A beast,” the faerie mused, “that is for certain.”

 

“Why don’t you come down here and face him, then?” Steve yelled.

 

“Quiet!” Bucky hissed downward.

 

Something hooked into the back of his hood and Bucky was jerked off of his feet. He dropped the torch and twisted with his sword, only for it to be knocked from his grip and fly off into the thicket. Steve jumped up in his ring of fire, his hands bursting into flame as well, as Bucky struggled against the spider’s leg lifting him higher and higher into the air. The light didn’t even reach his hands, then the leg flicked him and he spun, falling, only for two more legs to catch him and sticky silk to glob against his chest.

 

Bucky tried resisting, but he got dizzy quickly as the spider spun him in silk. He heard Steve yelling, then his wrapped body fell downward. His stomach swooped as he swung like a pendulum, hanging from the silk anchored at his feet, and all the blood rushed to his head. Steve ducked as Bucky’s body swung past him, then crouched to avoid being hit. Bucky couldn’t see straight at all.

 

He finally stopped swinging. He revolved in the air, facing Bruce, then Steve, then nothing. Then he heard a loud thump and saw the spider on the ground at last. Bucky strained against the silk binding him, but he still couldn’t get his breath.

 

“It is so like you foolish creatures to think you know best,” the spider said in the faerie’s enchanting voice as it scuttled nearer. Bucky struggled harder and Steve lifted the flames higher, but the spider was undaunted. “I had hoped you might be different, man, but your attitude betrays you. You are unworthy.”

 

Bucky would have answered her, but his mouth was sealed shut by the silk.

 

“What are we unworthy of?” Steve demanded.

 

The spider stilled. Its eight eyes blinked, then it began to shimmer. Bucky’s eyes widened as the spider’s form shrank, the red markings on the black body becoming shiny red hair, eight eyes and eight legs becoming two. A woman now stood where the spider had been, and from her moonlight pale skin to her pointed ears and her black eyes with red irises, it was plain to see she was the shapeshifter that allegedly haunted the Narrowood.

 

“ _He_ is unworthy,” the faerie hissed to Steve. “Of you!”

 

Bucky blinked. He screwed up his eyebrows and as his body twisted in the air again, he made eye contact with Steve. Steve looked just as confused.

 

“I have watched you these past nine days,” the faerie said, nearing again. She snatched out a hand and stopped Bucky from spinning, so he faced Steve and didn’t twist away again. “Truth be told, I have kept an eye on you your whole life.”

 

“What?” Steve said, almost lowering his flaming fists. Bucky made a noise and Steve jerked them back up. “Who are you?” Steve demanded of the faerie.

 

The faerie stopped just past his ring of fire. “You may call me Aunt,” she answered.

 

Bucky blinked again. He saw Bruce’s eyes get huge and Steve did actually drop his hands as he gawked at the fae woman.

 

“My sister was your great-great-grandmother,” the faerie explained to Steve. “She fell in love with a mortal man and in order to be with him, she traded her long life for his short one. But he betrayed her. My sister asked that I curse her daughters to never marry an Alpha, so they would never see the pain she endured. Nephew, I have waited a very long time for you to find your way to me.”

 

“Hold on!” Steve said. “You’re my _aunt?_ ”

 

The faerie nodded. “I have protected your line since I lost my sister.”

 

“By cursing us to never get married?” Steve spluttered. He let the flames die out on his hands. “Can you cut them down? It’s not good for them to be upside down like that.”

 

The faerie turned, clearly unbothered, then looked back at Steve. “Why should you care if they are upside down? My children are going to eat them.”

 

Bucky made a loud noise from under the silk and struggled tenfold. Bruce did the same, swinging his cocoon back and forth through the air.

 

“Don’t eat them!” Steve called, cutting out the ring of fire around his feet and running to grab the top of Bucky’s head, steadying him. “I need them!”

 

“You do not need Alphas, nephew,” the faerie claimed.

 

Steve whipped around to face her. “This Alpha happens to be _my_ Alpha and I prefer him uneaten!”

 

“He is unworthy of you,” the faerie insisted. She strode forward and waved a hand at Bucky; the silk around him tightened and he choked under it. “No man is worthy of you, my sister-son.”

 

“Can’t I decide whether or not a fella’s worthy of me?” Steve asked frustratedly.

 

“That Alpha is neither man nor monster,” the faerie answered flippantly, striding forward and pointing to Bucky. He dropped a few feet and Steve hastened to touch his face, pulling the silk away from his nose, but it just grew back over him. “He is an unnatural creature,” the faerie insisted, “his lifespan is lengthened on borrowed blood.”

 

“But he’s _my_ unnatural creature,” Steve said firmly. “And he’s going to marry me, so your curse can’t stop us!”

 

“Haven’t Alphas promised to marry you before?” the faerie asked quietly.

 

Bucky jerked his gaze to Steve, feeling helpless and confused. Steve faltered.

 

“He’s different,” Steve insisted.

 

“That’s what you want to believe, nephew,” the faerie told Steve. She neared closer, setting an almost gentle hand on Steve’ shoulder. “But all Alphas are swine, sister-son. They take and they take and they take, and they care not for the gravity of their actions. Already, this Alpha knowingly breaks his own courting traditions to lie next to you at night. Already, he does what only wedded partners do by brushing your hair at night, nephew. He lies to you, child.”

 

“He just combs my hair,” Steve said, then glanced over at Bucky.

 

Bucky tried to speak, to communicate that yes, the act was significant, but no, he didn’t mean it the way it was to be done on a wedding night. But the silk tightened on his mouth and he choked again.

 

“If he would do what he knows he should wait for marriage to do now,” the faerie said, and Bucky struggled harder as Steve’s hands slipped from his purpling face, “then what else might the swine do? He demeans you by making you cower at his feet, when you are a witch of power not seen in over a hundred years!”

 

“I don’t cower at his feet!” Steve snapped. “And it’s not up to anybody else but me and him what we do in private! So what if he shouldn’t be combing my hair until we’re married? I’ve tried a hundred times to get him to lie with me since we started courting and he’s refused each time. _He_ refused!”

 

“Does he not lust after you?” the faerie asked coldly. “Does he not see you as an object, a toy to fulfill his desires?”

 

“Why don’t you ask him?” Steve said, turning and ripping the silk away from Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky sucked in a gasping breath, then coughed and heaved for air. Steve petted his cheek gently, keeping the silk from slipping back over his mouth.

 

“No,” Bucky wheezed. “I’d rather be the toy.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, but he abruptly grinned. “Oh, you would, would you?” he asked, purring.

 

“Uh,” Bucky said weakly, glancing at the faerie. “We should – Later.”

 

“Right,” Steve said. He turned to face the faerie who was, supposedly, his aunt. “Will you let them down now? Anyway, Bruce isn’t even remotely interested in me, he’s a servant of the Morrígan.”

 

“I actually haven’t lusted after a single person ever in my life,” Bruce called helpfully. “I can’t even rut.”

 

“They cannot be trusted,” the faerie insisted.

 

“That man is literally a monk!” Steve exclaimed, pointing at Bruce exasperatedly.

 

“I serve the Morrígan,” Bruce said firmly.

 

The faerie glared, but threw out a hand. Bruce’s cocoon fell and he hit the forest floor with a loud thump and a groan.

 

“Will you let Bucky down, too?” Steve asked frustratedly.

 

The faerie turned and fixed her black gaze on Bucky. Bucky felt his consciousness falling out of his head and spiral away on waves of spider silk.

 

He was seven years old, throwing rocks at the side of a barn to get a cat to jump out the big window. He was eleven and throwing his baby sister’s only doll into the pond so she would stop following him. He was twelve and telling his mother he didn’t want to be a farmer because farmers lead boring lives. He was thirteen and sneaking out of the barracks to meet a boy he’d been forbidden to speak with because they kept getting in trouble.

 

 _Will you let him down, too?_ a voice whispered in his ear.

 

He was fourteen and he couldn’t master using his parrying dagger, so he threw it at one of the boys who was taunting him and nearly took off his ear. He was fifteen and he was lying to his master that he couldn’t go home for the winter solstice so he could meet with that same boy he’d been sneaking around with for two years instead of spending time with his family. He was sixteen and – He was sixteen and – He was only sixteen –

 

_Will you be selfish with him, too?_

 

Bucky was lying on a hard, metal table. There were men standing over him, looking at him, and he didn’t even hesitate before killing them. After they were dead, he saw that they weren’t even members of Hydra, they were prisoners like him, and he had ripped out their throats with his bare hands. He had _ripped_ out their throats with his _bare hands._ There was flesh under his nails and blood covered his body. He had blood on his face. There was blood in his mouth. Had he bitten someone? He had bitten someone, he had ripped out someone’s throat with his teeth –

 

_A true wolf would never waste flesh. Did you eat their bodies, man-wolf? Did you tear out their hearts and bite down on their flesh? Or did you stop halfway through to lose your own stomach?_

 

He is standing at the head of a crowd. There are soldiers with gaunt faces and skeletal bodies facing him. He stands at the shoulder of a man who is no longer a man. The Red Skull, the Red Skull. He speaks words of evil magic and the soldiers raise their shields. He is standing before a gate, an army at his back. He is standing in a hovel, holding a man by the throat. He is throwing the man aside, striding forward to the woman cowering behind a table. She is screaming, begging for mercy. He is cutting open her swollen belly and taking the child from her womb. He is leaving her there to bleed out. He is giving the child to the Red Skull. He is standing at the head of a crowd, at the shoulders of a man who is no longer a man, watching the child he had cut from an innocent Omega’s womb be sacrificed to the glory of the god of Hydra.

 

_Are you a man any longer, wolf? Are you a wolf any longer, beast? Are you even a man any – LET HIM GO! Are you a man? LET HIM GO, YOU’RE HURTING HIM! Are you a man? LET GO! What are you, beast?_

 

Bucky fell back into his own head as his body hit the snow and mud with a hard thunk. Steve fell down next to him, hands cradling his head.

 

“Are you alright?” Steve asked in a hushed tone.

 

Bucky rolled over and forced himself to his feet. He swayed and staggered and Steve caught his shoulders, trying to stabilize him, but Bucky jerked away. Steve was pure, Steve was good, no Omega should touch him –

 

The faerie was still looking at him. “What are you?” she demanded.

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky gasped. “I don’t know –”

 

“You’re mine,” Steve broke in. He caught Bucky by the neck, pulling him down and touching his cheek. Bucky blinked and Steve tenderly caressed his cheek. “You’re mine,” he insisted softly.

 

Bucky blinked more. “Yours,” he muttered.

 

“You’re my Alpha,” Steve told him firmly. Bucky drew in a sharp breath and Steve stroked his cheek again, wiping spider silk away from his face. “Mine.”

 

“Yours,” Bucky agreed. He took another steadying breath, then let his hands rest on Steve’s waist and sagged, almost leaning on him. “Your Alpha.”

 

“That’s it,” Steve murmured, petting his cheek. “Deep breaths, love.”

 

Bucky nodded, inhaling and exhaling. Steve lifted onto his toes and pulled Bucky’s head down to kiss his forehead, then petted both hands over his cheeks to secure behind his neck.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve told him. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

 

Bucky blew out his breath and circled his arms around Steve’s waist, his head bowing and his eyes falling shut. Steve started to pet through his hair, his fingers gentle, and Bucky let the fear that had risen in him like bile ebb away. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the feeling of Steve’s fingers in his hair.

 

“You had no right to do that,” Steve said over his shoulder.

 

The faerie didn’t answer. Bucky kept his eyes shut, not wanting to make eye contact with her, but apparently, that wasn’t what she needed.

 

_You love him._

 

Bucky lifted his head, anger prickling at the edges of the fear. He looked the faerie in the eye anyway, glaring her down.

 

“Yes,” he said firmly.

 

The faerie tilted her head to one side as she considered him. Steve looked between him and her, his brow furrowed, but the faerie didn’t break Bucky’s gaze.

 

_Your intentions may be well but he will never marry, not while my curse lies on his line._

 

“Don’t all the stories say true love’s kiss will break any curse?” Bucky snapped.

 

The faerie laughed. Steve’s brow tightened even more, looking between them anxiously.

 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked.

 

“This is not a fairytale,” the faerie said. Her gaze sharpened again and Bucky felt her voice in his mind. _He will never marry. Not unless I release the curse._

 

“Then release it!” Bucky answered sharply. He drew Steve in tighter to him. “It isn’t your place to say who he should be with!”

 

The faerie’s eyes narrowed. Steve frowned and Bucky held the faerie’s gaze evenly.

 

“It’s up to him,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Then I give _you_ a choice,” the faerie said aloud. Her eyes narrowed almost to slits, her black eyes boring into his. _Relinquish your immortality and I relinquish the curse._

 

Bucky looked at her for a second, and then he gave a laugh of relief. “That’s it?” he said. “Easy. Do it.”

 

The faerie looked surprised for almost a second. “Easy?” she spluttered. “This is the very thing that caused my sister to ask me to curse her line in the first place, she gave up her life for her love!”

 

“I’ve been twenty years old for eighty years,” Bucky told her frankly. “Immortality’s not all it’s cracked up to be, especially considering I didn’t want to be immortal to begin with.”

 

“Uh,” Steve said while the faerie looked completely flabbergasted. “What’s going on?”

 

The faerie shook herself. “Very well,” she said. “Come here.”

 

Bucky hesitantly let go of Steve. “You’re not actually gonna just kill me, are you?”

 

“No,” the faerie said, smiling. “It might hurt, though.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” Steve called, grabbing Bucky’s arm and tugging him back. “What are you doing?”

 

“Making him mortal again,” the faerie said primly. “And then reversing the curse so you can get married.”

 

“Really?” Steve said, looking startled. “It’s that easy?”

 

The faerie jabbed a thumb in Bucky’s direction. “He’s giving up immortality for you, kid,” she said informally. “It’s actually pretty fuckin’ devoted.”

 

Bucky turned back and stuck his face into Steve’s, pressing their cheeks together. “Told you I was all about devotion,” he murmured.

 

Steve laughed and shoved him off. “Alright, alright, just don’t kill him. I don’t wanna have to learn necromancy.”

 

“Aw, sweetheart, you’d bring me back from the dead?” Bucky asked him, pushing back in to nuzzle Steve’s cheek. “That’s the nicest thing a guy’s ever offered me.”

 

“You’ve got low standards,” Steve giggled.

 

Bucky kissed his cheek. “And you’re meeting every one of them.”

 

“Oh, my gods,” the faerie whispered. “Can we get a move on with this? You’re shaving years off of _my_ immortality.”

 

“Get off me and give up your immortality,” Steve said with another laugh, pushing Bucky off of him. “Stupid Alpha,” Steve sniggered.

 

Bucky leveled a finger on him but walked over to the faerie. He faced her and squared his shoulders. She looked him up and down, then darted out a hand and pinched hard the nape of his neck while at the same time kicking out his knee. Bucky yelped and fell to his knees, then colored in embarrassment on how quickly she’d taken him down. The faerie gave him a condescending smile, then set one hand on his shoulder and pressed her thumb between his eyebrows with the other.

 

Bucky’s head threw itself back as his body arched itself outward with every muscle in his body convulsing painfully, all at once and not a single one at all. Pain that rivaled the serum that had turned him into a werewolf with ten times the power coursed through his every pore. It felt like his soul was being ripped out and his only conscious thought was that he was so glad he and Steve weren’t bonded yet, so this pain would be his and his alone.

 

One of the faerie’s thumbs dug into his forehead. The other pressed into the scent gland at the hollow of his throat. Blood sputtered in his veins and his heart gave a feeble thump before stopping entirely. His lungs seized up much like the rest of his body and they refused to work after that. Bucky was surely dying. The faerie had lied and she was killing him.

 

Then she released him and Bucky fell to the ground with a coarse inhale of breath. Steve grabbed his shoulders and lifted him into his lap while Bucky gasped like a man rescued from drowning. The faerie grimaced at her hands, then flicked her fingers distastefully.

 

“That was certainly the nastiest immortality I have ever taken,” she said.

 

“Hey,” Steve said softly to Bucky, a careful but worried smile curling his pretty lips. “You alright in there, love?”

 

Bucky nodded weakly. He clutched at his chest, pounded on it a few times, then felt his heart restart and sucked in another breath.

 

“Where did you even become immortal?” the faerie asked, still grimacing and flicking her fingers.

 

“Hydra,” Bucky rasped. “Captured. Red Skull. Slave.”

 

“Oh,” the fae woman said, then increased her grimace. “Ew.”

 

Bucky nodded again. “Ew,” he agreed faintly.

 

Distantly, he heard thumping. Steve looked around and Bucky lifted onto an elbow to look over Steve’s shoulder at Bruce, who was still cocooned in spider silk and wriggling on the forest floor.

 

“My bad,” the faerie said, then snapped her fingers and caused the spider silk to release.

 

Bruce jumped to his feet, wiped stray silk from his person, then stumbled off to the side and started vomiting.

 

“Your horse should be back here in a minute,” the faerie added, looking down at Steve and Bucky.

 

“What’s your name?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze between the faerie and Steve, somehow too exhausted by relinquishing his immortality to really be concerned or surprised by Steve flat out asking for a faerie’s name. The faerie drew herself up and looked at Steve with guarded eyes, and Steve returned her gaze without blinking.

 

“You may call me Natasha,” the faerie said at last. She bowed at the waist, but maintained eye contact with Steve. “Though, I was serious when I said you could call me aunt.”

 

“I think we’ll stick with Natasha,” Steve said.

 

Natasha shrugged. “Fair.”

“You can call me Steve,” Steve started, then pointed over his shoulder. “You can call him Bruce, and you may call this guy Bucky.”

 

Bucky waved a limp hand. Natasha smiled at them.

 

“I knew your names,” she said.

 

“That’s not ominous,” Bucky muttered.

 

Natasha raised her eyebrows at him. “I have yet to release the curse,” she said coolly.

 

“Please do that,” Bucky said. He clasped his hands together and shook them a little like prayer. “Curse, gone. Please.”

 

Natasha sighed heavily. Her eyes rolled up in her head, which was made more disturbing given the fact that she had no _whites,_ her eyes were all black, then they rolled back and she gave him and Steve a tight smile.

 

“There,” she said. “Curse removed.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered. “I’m gonna – Pass out.”

 

He slumped in Steve’s arms. Which, he thought as he fell unconscious, was very unsporting of him. It wasn’t fair to Steve to leave him alone to deal with his fae great-great aunt and a vomiting monk. But fall unconscious he did, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

 

He woke up with warmth on his face. His head cushioned on something soft, fingers in his hair. It was so wonderful, tender and loving and _warm,_ he didn’t want to open his eyes. But he knew if he did, he’d see –

 

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve smiling down at him. And that made it worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _see y'all tomorrow_


	13. THE BEAR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i am alive! also, kids in grocery stores? it's more annoying than you think. jk. ish. i'm not alive. what am i even saying, just read_

##  _[THE BEAR]_

  


“I haven’t left the forest in at least three millennia,” Natasha remarked as sunlight began to dapple over the faces of their party. “Not for any significant length of time, at least.”

 

Steve still couldn’t quite believe that she was real. She looked no older than him, but was his great-great aunt. She had been alive for centuries before that even. She was a mystery, but that could have been expected for any member of the fair folk. More importantly, she seemed to find it her duty now to act as Steve’s guardian.

 

“You’re my baby nephew,” she had said flatly when he had asked when she was going to go with them. “I will protect you the rest of your comparatively tiny lifespan.”

 

It had been… Almost kind. Steve was beginning to grow fond of her.

 

Bucky was not fond of Natasha, on the other hand, and he cared for the hawk that followed her everywhere even less. Steve figured it probably had to do with attacking them and stringing him and Bruce up like meats in a butcher’s shop, but he and Steve’s aunt had come to an amicable stoniness by the time they neared the forest’s edge.

 

Bruce was just plain terrified of the faery, which was understandable. She could turn into a spider the size of Steve’s shack back in Brooklyn.

 

The hawk perched on Natasha’s shoulder shrieked abruptly and Bucky winced. Steve didn’t blame him, the hawk was right next to Bucky’s ear.

 

“No, that was during the second age,” Natasha answered the hawk.

 

The hawk let out a quieter shriek.

 

“It’s the fourth age,” Steve informed him. He reached up with a bit of jerky in his palm and the hawk carefully plucked it from his hand. “And the seventh century, if that helps.”

 

The hawk trilled, ruffled his feathers, then launched from Natasha’s shoulder and fluttered onto Bucky’s head. Bucky sat up very straight and looked up slowly. Steve hastily covered his mouth as he started to snigger. The hawk tipped his head down and looked at Bucky, then tapped Bucky’s forehead with his beak. Bucky yelped and dropped the reins to wave his hands at the hawk, but the hawk screeched and launched into the air; Bucky grabbed his head and glared up at the hawk as he hovered in the air above them. The hawk screeched again and dropped back onto Natasha’s shoulder.

 

“He thinks you need a haircut,” Steve chuckled.

 

“Well, he can keep his opinions to himself,” Bucky said darkly, then pulled a throwing knife from his belt to brandish threateningly at the hawk.

 

Natasha raised a hand and blew a kiss towards the knife. Mid-brandish, Bucky stopped to look at the knife with bewilderment as it wilted and flopped uselessly in his hand.

 

“That was one of my best knives,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Oh, poor baby,” Natasha said, patting Bucky’s cheek. “Next time you want to threaten my _càraid,_ don’t use something you’re fond of.”

 

Bucky waved the floppy knife with a pout, then dropped it into a different pouch. He picked up the reins again, then abruptly frowned and leaned back to look at Natasha and the hawk.

 

“Your _càraid?_ ” he repeated. “That’s a hawk.”

 

“Wait, what’s a _càraid?_ ” Steve asked, frowning and leaning forward, too.

 

“It means mate,” Bruce piped up from the wagon bed. “It’s Gaelic.”

 

“Mate?” Steve echoed, looking over.

 

“That’s a hawk!” Bucky insisted.

 

Natasha looked at them all like they were the biggest idiots she’d ever met. “I was a giant spider when you met me,” she said flatly.

 

“That’s a person?” Bucky said.

 

“Yes,” Natasha said simply.

 

“What’s its name?” Bruce asked.

 

Natasha sat forward in her seat. The hawk ruffled its feathers, then launched into the air and soared ahead to land on Patchouli’s rump. The horse didn’t seem to mind.

 

“He wouldn’t tell me his name, either,” Steve told Bucky in a consoling tone.

 

“Wouldn’t him being your mate make him Steve’s uncle?” Bucky asked with a confused face.

 

“Yes,” Natasha answered, looking at Bucky frankly before nodding. “Yes, it would.”

 

The hawk trilled from Patchouli’s rump, then fluttered back and landed on Steve’s knee.

 

“That was _you?_ ” Steve gasped.

 

“What was him?” Bucky demanded, looking around with a deeply furrowed brow.

 

“The hawk I talked to when I was a baby!” Steve said, then grabbed Bucky’s arm and shook it. “My first words were with a shapeshifter!”

 

“Of course, I sent him to check on you,” Natasha said.

 

The hawk trilled and bobbed his head. Steve grinned and petted his feathers, amazed.

 

“My first words were to a shapeshifter,” Steve murmured.

 

“How’s that for an uncle?” Bucky said in his ear.

 

Steve gave a laugh and leaned on Bucky’s shoulder, still petting his hawk of an uncle. “You ever gonna show us your human form? Or your human-ish one, I guess.”

 

The hawk blinked at him, then cocked his head and chirped once or twice in a vague manner. Steve chuckled some more and carried on petting him, while Bucky shook his head and turned his attention back to the road.

 

“Your family’s weird, kid,” he said.

 

“You’re gonna marry into this family,” Steve reminded him smugly.

 

“Yikes,” Bucky muttered.

 

“It’s very eclectic,” Natasha piped up. “For one, the mortal my sister fell for was the last king of Yorke.”

 

Steve leaned over Bucky to gawk at her. “You’re kidding!”

 

“No,” Natasha said simply. “I do not kid, Steven.”

 

“I’m descended from a king?” Steve said in disbelief.

 

“His only descendent,” Natasha added, “as far as I know.”

 

Steve gawked more.

 

“Well, all his legitimate children were executed by the Eastern March,” Natasha pointed out. “And all of their children were killed. And you have no living relatives from your mother’s line. So, yeah.”

 

Steve blinked.

 

“Shit,” Bucky said abruptly.

 

Steve shifted to look at him and blinked again. “What?”

 

“This gonna mean I’m your queen, isn’t it?” Bucky said with a distasteful grimace on his face. “I don’t look good in skirts.”

 

Steve laughed and fell against Bucky’s shoulder, displacing his hawk-uncle and causing the hawk to launch off of his knees with a dignified squawk of protest.

 

“I mean, you’re the only heir to the throne!” Bucky insisted while Steve collapsed on his shoulder with laughter. “We’re gonna displace the current institution, reinstall the monarchy! You’re the heir, I’m your Alpha, I ain’t gonna take the title’a king, people’ll think I’m in charge instead’a you! That makes me the queen!”

 

“You’re gonna be a queen,” Steve wheezed.

 

“Technically, you’d be the prince consort,” Natasha said.

 

Steve burst into renewed laughter.

 

“Aw, I actually wanted to be queen,” Bucky sighed.

 

“Technically,” Natasha continued, “he’d be queen because he’s an Omega.”

 

“I wanted to be queen!” Bucky whined.

 

“You could be princ _ess_ consort,” Steve offered.

 

“That’s not the same as queen and you know it,” Bucky told him.

 

“Aw, I’m sorry, doll,” Steve said, then patted Bucky’s knee apologetically. “You can be queen in my heart.”

 

The hawk started chirping and bobbing up and down on the wall of the cab, like he was laughing. Steve grinned and shook his head, laughing softly under his breath.

 

“You’d be prince consort to the queen regnant,” Natasha said. “Unless you were joint sovereigns with him. That’s how monarchies work.”

 

“That’s stupid,” Bucky declared. “Steve should be king.”

 

“Take it up with the Council of Kings,” Natasha said with a shrug. “Human institutions work weird.”

 

“Who said I wanna put the monarchy back in place at all?” Steve asked, sitting up straight again. “Maybe I don’t want to be queen.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, looking at him levelly, “everyone wants to be a queen.”

 

Steve gave him a look. Bucky raised his eyebrows. Steve cracked and snorted, then shoved his shoulder.

 

“Maybe I don’t wanna be a monarch!” Steve said. “You ever think about that?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Well, thing is, when you go all anarchy, things wind up kinda shithole. So, when we take out the Cretan Empire, we gotta put something in its place. Old monarchy’s the first bet, ain’t it?”

 

Steve considered this. “Well,” he sighed. “Isn’t enough that I gotta kickstart a revolution?”

 

“Who said you have to be the one to kickstart the revolution?” Natasha asked, leaning forward.

 

“The monk,” Steve said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Mouthpiece of the Morrígan.”

 

“Aw, shit,” Natasha sighed. “I hate it when Mother sticks her nose in human business. Everything becomes ten times as dramatic and violent as it needed to be in the first place.”

 

“Mother?” Bruce spluttered. “You’re not saying that you are one of the first fae!”

 

Natasha hooked an elbow over the back of the cab to look at him. “I was three minutes older than my sister,” she said seriously, “I’m not _one of,_ I am _the_ first.”

 

“Your family is so fucking weird,” Bucky whispered.

 

“My great-great-great grandmother is a goddess?” Steve muttered.

 

Natasha leaned forward again to look at him. “Did I not tell you that already? Sorry, kiddo. My mother is the Morrígan. Anyway, she gave a prophecy? You have to be the one to start the revolution?”  


“Uh,” Steve said, still hooked on the fact that five generations back, his ancestor was a _goddess,_ “that’s what Bruce said?”

 

“My mother gave a prophecy?” Natasha asked Bruce.

 

“Your mother –” Bruce said.

 

Natasha blinked at him. “Yes?” she prompted.

 

“You’re –” Bruce whispered.

 

Natasha leaned over the edge of the cab. “Yes?” she said again, slower.

 

“Mother,” Bruce said very, very, very weakly.

 

Natasha sighed. Steve twisted around in his seat to watch the interaction between Bruce, the servant of the Morrígan, and Natasha, the daughter of the Morrígan, unfold.

 

“She gave you a prophecy?” Natasha prompted. “What was it?”

 

Bruce blinked. The hawk flew over and landed on his head. Natasha snapped her fingers in front of Bruce’s face.

 

“What did she say?” Natasha asked again.

 

Bruce shook himself; the hawk squawked and fluttered off of his head, landing back on Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha didn’t react.

 

“Prophecy,” Bruce said. “Right.”

 

“Please,” Natasha said, waving a hand. “Go on.”  


“Uh, she said to find Steven, son of Sarah,” Bruce started.

 

Steve nodded to Natasha.

 

“He would be with James, son of George,” Bruce continued.

 

Bucky waved a hand.

 

“Steven is the last witch in Yorke,” Bruce continued.

 

“Of course,” Natasha agreed.

 

“The Morrígan told me to go with him,” Bruce said, nodding as he carried on with his story, “he would be the usurper to take down the Fist of Cretus.”

 

“Usurper,” Steve repeated softly. “I like that better than queen.”

 

“Can I be queen, then?” Bucky asked.

 

“You’ll be prince consort!” Natasha said firmly, slapping Bucky on the shoulder before turning back to Bruce. “What else did she tell you?”

 

“Uh,” Bruce said, looking up as though remembering. “Look for a blonde male Omega? Probably causing some kind of trouble?”

 

Bucky laughed. Steve scowled.

 

“Y’know, that’s exactly what the hit on him said!” Bucky said happily. “Look for some kid causin’ trouble!”

 

“Shuddup!” Steve told him, slapping him on the shoulder, probably harder than Natasha did. “For the record, I wasn’t causing any kind of trouble when Bruce found us.”

 

“You were making a scene,” Bruce said, raising his eyebrows. “Kissing like you were behind closed doors.”

 

Steve made a squawk much like the hawk’s. “That – That was Bucky’s fault!”

 

“My fault?” Bucky spluttered.

 

“What do you mean hit?” Natasha asked.

 

Steve leaned to the side, watching Bucky’s eyes go wide. Then he leaned forward to address his aunt.

 

“Somebody hired him to kill me,” Steve said simply. “It’s how we met.”

 

“Someone hired you to kill him?” Natasha repeated to Bucky in a dangerously quiet tone.

 

“But I didn’t,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“He didn’t,” Steve agreed.

 

“For the record, I’m pretty sure it was Thanos himself who ordered the hit,” Bucky added.

 

“I do not care _who_ ordered the hit,” Natasha answered sharply.

 

“I didn’t know him when I took the job!” Bucky told her defensively.

 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Steve giggled.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, turning to glare at him, “will you get your aunt off my back?”

 

“Great-great-great grandma likes him,” Steve told Natasha. “She removed the Red Skull’s enchantment, the one that enslaved him to Hydra.”

 

“My mother curing him of an enchantment does not mean she liked him,” Natasha said.

 

“It was painless,” Steve added.

 

Natasha narrowed her eyes further. She leaned closer and squinted at Bucky up close.

 

“What made you decide not to kill my nephew after all?” Natasha asked him in a flat tone.

 

“He pissed off some Cretans,” Bucky answered. “So, I figured he was causing trouble for the Cretans, not just in general.”

 

“That’s it?” Natasha pressed suspiciously.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Anything that’s trouble for Cretans is cool with me.”

 

“Alright,” Natasha said, leaning back. “You’re on probation.”

 

“Gee,” Bucky said dryly, “thanks, Aunt Nat.”

 

Steve sniggered again. Bucky cast him an unimpressed look, then whistled to Patchouli.

 

“Time to camp for the night!” he announced, pulling on the reins.

 

The weirdest thing about having Natasha with them was that fae didn’t sleep. Steve thought it was weird, Bucky said it made his job as a paranoid bastard easier, because she sat by the fire and meditated the whole night with one eye open. What was cute was that her hawk perched on her shoulder and roosted with his head under his wing, but the whole one eye open thing, Steve thought that was kind of creepy.

 

“I can see you staring at me,” Natasha said evenly.

 

Steve hastily redirected his gaze. “Sorry.”

 

“Isn’t it your bedtime?” Natasha asked, opening her other eye.

 

“It’s hardly sunset,” Steve countered defensively.

 

He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered into the fire. Natasha sighed heavily.

 

“It’s because your Alpha isn’t back yet, isn’t it?” she asked dryly.

 

Steve looked at her sideways. “No.”

 

Natasha closed both of her eyes, exhaling deeply. Her shoulders shifted with it, which seemed to wake her hawk because he jerked his head out from under his wing and gave a weak squawk.

 

“What’s he even doing?” Natasha asked absently as her hawk leaned sideways to glare at her. Natasha ignored him. “He’s been gone all night.”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed pitifully. “I don’t even know what he’s doing.”

 

“Hmph,” Natasha answered. She resettled herself on the ground and closed both her eyes, uncrossing her legs only to cross them in the opposite direction; her unseasonably bare feet tucked over her knees. “He’s doing something silly and showy, I’m sure.”

 

“I’m sure,” Steve agreed. “He’s properly courting me, apparently. Or, as best as he can as we’re on the run and all my family is months away.”

 

“I’m here,” Natasha said, her eyes opening.

 

Steve gave her a smile. “Yes,” he answered, “I suppose you are.”

 

Natasha looked at him almost fondly, though her lips didn’t curl and her cheeks didn’t round, her eyes lost some of the lines around them. Steve was beginning to see where her soft edges were and where they showed themselves. She truly did feel like an aunt he’d met once when he was very young, had loved and then missed his whole up until then, their rejoining.

 

“Gods alive!” Bruce abruptly gasped from across the camp.

 

Steve jerked around, then leapt to his feet, gawking as Bucky approached the camp with a large form slung over his shoulders. Natasha’s hawk flew off of her shoulder and screeched in surprise. Natasha herself actually blinked.

 

“Is that a _bear?_ ” Steve asked with shock.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said simply, heaving the carcass off of his shoulders just past the edge of camp. It hit the ground with a heavy thud that shook Steve where he was standing. “I was trying to get a stag, but this old fella came out of his cave spoiling for a fight. I gave him a good death.”

 

Steve gaped at the dead bear, at a complete loss for words.

 

“If you’re looking to appear impressive,” Natasha called, “I don’t think it worked.”

 

“I think it worked,” Bruce disagreed, getting to his feet. “That old fella must be seven feet tall!”

 

“Eh,” Bucky said, looking down at the bear with a critical squint. “Something like that.”

 

“How on earth did you _carry_ it?” Bruce demanded, bending and trying to lift one of the bear’s paws. “It must weigh some sixty, seventy stone!”

 

“Something like that,” Bucky agreed again, then bent at the knees and lifted the bear’s carcass again. “I gotta get it skinned and gutted before sunrise. Bruce, you wanna pray for it?”

 

“I haven’t ever prayed for a bear,” Bruce said, laughing almost nervously.

 

“Thank it for giving up its life and all,” Bucky said, carrying the bear away from the camp.

 

Steve slowly turned on the spot to watch Bucky carry the massive, full-grown brown bear on his own to the other side of the camp, to the incline of the hill, and drop it again to shake the ground all the way to the campfire where Steve was standing. Natasha’s hawk fluttered onto his shoulder and trilled.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve mumbled. “Show-off,” he agreed absently.

 

“Alphas,” Natasha sighed. “Forever preening.”

 

Steve walked numbly to where Bucky had started butchering the bear’s carcass. The hawk fled Steve’s shoulder with an indignant squawk as Steve moved away from Natasha and Bruce stood nearby to Bucky and the bear carcass, looking confused.

 

“I wasn’t aware we thanked our kills,” Bruce said.

 

“‘Course we do,” Bucky told him, standing deftly out of the way of an outpouring of the bear’s blood. He bent and collected some in a jar, wiping the outside clean before stowing it in his belt and stepping back from the carcass. “This old guy didn’t do anything to deserve being killed, other than I needed his pelt and his meat, so it’s only right we thank him.”

 

“Yes,” Bruce said musingly while Steve blinked. “I suppose you’re right. I never thought about that.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Hey, Steve, think you could dig a pit for me to bury the entrails?” he asked, sounding a little reluctant. Steve raised his eyebrows and Bucky gave a shrug. “There’s nothing I can really do with them, I hate to waste them and leave them to the elements. We bury ‘em, they make the ground more fertile.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows further, at the bear this time, then shrugged. He made a fist and pulled it back by his waist hard, and a deep pit sunk into the ground past where the bear lay. The blood started channeling into it instead of down the hillside.

 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Bucky said, bending and kissing Steve’s cheek without touching him elsewhere; his hands were, understandably, very bloody. “Y’know,” Bucky added, coming a little closer to Steve and looking a little bashful, which only caused Steve’s eyebrows to lift even further. “I was wondering if you’d like me to make you a necklace with the claws? For your third gift?”

 

Steve blinked at Bucky. Bucky looked down at his feet and shrugged, his cheeks red. Bruce glanced between the pair of them curiously.

 

Steve broke into a grin, then lifted onto his toes and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “I’d love it,” he said happily, grinning even wider when Bucky’s face split into a grin of his own. “But only if you’ll make one for yourself, too. I’ve got an idea.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky agreed, giving him a nod. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

 

He said it so earnestly Steve couldn’t help the blush that rose in his cheeks. Bucky turned back to the bear, bending and pulling back his sleeves to begin skinning the animal, and Steve wandered closer with morbid fascination. Bucky moved the bear as he worked, cutting the hide away from the meat underneath, with an expert efficiency that made it clear that he’d done it before. Steve watched him remove the skin entirely, leaving even behind the head, and bundle up the skin to put aside. Then Bucky turned the now bare carcass on its side, cut open its belly, and began removing the entrails.

 

“Can you do anything with those?” Steve asked, curious.

 

“If I had the right tools,” Bucky said in answer. “You can use any part of an animal for something.”

 

Bucky removed the bear’s heart, then looked up and waved Steve closer. “Can you rinse this off?” he asked.

 

Steve stepped carefully around the tracks of blood, then held a hand over the heart in Bucky’s palms and let his magic flow. Water beaded at his fingertips, then dripped off, becoming a steady stream. Bucky turned the heart in his hands, cleaning the blood and excess tissue from it, then, when he was apparently satisfied, dropped it into a pouch at his belt.

 

“Won’t it –” Steve started, but Bucky shook his head.

 

“It’s suspended animation,” he reminded Steve. “I don’t usually keep raw meats in there, but it’s the best place for it. Besides, bear hearts are useful.”

 

“For what?” Steve asked, confused.

 

Bucky shrugged. “Things?” he suggested.

 

“Fertility rituals,” Bruce piped up.

 

Bucky turned red. Steve jerked to look at Bruce, who also blushed.

 

“Also rituals for strength!” the monk said hastily. “Or bravery. Not just fertility!”

 

“Right,” Steve muttered.

 

“Uh,” Bucky said. He shook himself. “Things. Uh –”

 

He flicked blood and water from his fingers and carried on gutting the bear. Steve stepped out of the way again.

 

Bucky cleaned out the gut of the bear presently, then began shaving down the layers of fat that had lined the bear’s pelt over its heavy muscles. He produced burlap sacks from his belt that he gathered much of the fat into, tossing the rest into the pit with the entrails. Once he got down to the red meat under the fat, he split the bear’s ribs open and laid it on its front. Steve stepped in then and washed the dirt from the meat without prompting, which earned him a warm smile from Bucky before he began cutting the meat from the bones. The meat was stowed in burlap sacks much like the fat, and before long, Bucky seemed to have exhausted the bear’s skeleton.

 

Even then, Bucky carefully broke apart the bones from their joints and collected them into a pile. He sat on a tree stump to strip the last of the meat from the bones, tossing it into the pit as he cleaned each bone. The crescent moon didn’t give much light as the sun faded, so Steve conjured fire and held it in his palms to watch Bucky clean the bones. Occasionally, Bucky asked him to wash a bone clean and Steve would let the fire die in one hand to do so. Before long, Bucky had the skeleton cleaned and many of the bones were pushed into his belt. The rest were dumped into the pit with the entrails and excess fat, which Steve filled in with a wave of his hand.

 

The skull was too large to fit through any pouch’s opening on Bucky’s belt, but Bucky got the burlap sacks of meat and fat into his belt before setting down the skull by the pelt and holding his hands out to Steve. Steve conjured water once more so Bucky could wash his hands. After, Bucky took the skull and pelt over to the wagon bed. Bucky stretched the bear’s pelt over the side of the wagon, turning it out to face the skin up to the air, then removed the claws.

 

After that, Bucky wandered over to the fire and took a small pot from his belt to set over the fire.

 

“Steve, could you fill this up?” he asked.

 

“What’s it for?” Steve asked, but he was already filling the pot with water.

 

Bucky just spilled the claws into the water. “Can’t do anything with them until they’re clean,” he said.

 

Steve just shrugged and dropped down at Bucky’s side. He nudged Bucky with his shoulder until Bucky looked at him, then picked Bucky’s arm up by the wrist and pulled it over himself. Bucky smiled and Steve gave him a similar fond look, before snuggling happily into his side.

 

“Thank you for providing for me, Alpha,” Steve said softly.

 

He looked up just to see Bucky’s cheeks color. Steve smiled more; he’d known exactly what Bucky was doing. The meat from the bear would last weeks, the pelt would keep them warm as the autumn equinox drew nearer, the necklace Bucky intended to make were clearly to showcase that he had the skill in the first place. Not to mention, he’d taken on a _bear,_ _alone,_ and had come out with the bear draped over his shoulders like a lynx.

 

Steve felt very pleased by the care his Alpha was giving him. He nuzzled Bucky’s chest with his cheek and curled his hands around Bucky’s waist, a smile on his lips, in the hopes that his Alpha would, in turn, feel cared for.

 

“Are we going to eat any of that bear?” Bruce asked hopefully from next to Steve.

 

Bucky shifted, which jostled Steve from his place and left Steve disgruntled.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, getting up and leaving Steve even more disgruntled. “I’m pretty hungry, if I’m honest, youse must be hungry, too.”

 

“Now you’re hungry,” Steve grumbled, sitting up right and remembering the early days of their journey where Steve had to threaten to choke Bucky with the jerky he’d ram down his throat if he didn’t eat.

 

Bucky just shot him a smile and headed to the wagon, returning with the heavy cast iron pan and the grate. He moved the pot with the bear claws off to the side in the coals, then set up the grate over the flames and placed the pan on it. He pulled one of the burlap sacks of meat from his belt, then tossed a lump of fat into the pan to melt into lard. Then he sat next to Steve again and draped his arm over his shoulder. Steve happily cuddled into his side again.

 

Bucky bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Steve gave him a smile and Bucky ducked down to kiss his lips, too. Steve smiled wider against Bucky’s kiss and Bucky pressed their foreheads together, slotting their noses side by side and letting their lips brush here and there as they breathed. Steve abruptly giggled and Bucky snaked his arms around Steve tighter, laughing softly.

 

“What?” Bucky murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“I love you,” Steve said easily.

 

Bucky grinned wider and kissed him again, a little more firmly, but a little quicker, too. When he pulled back, he rubbed their noses together.

 

“I love you, too,” he said softly.

 

Steve curled his fingers through Bucky’s hair happily. “I’m really glad you decided not to kill me,” he added with another giggle.

 

Bucky snorted, reaching up and tapping Steve’s chin with a knuckle. “Me too, punk,” he said.

 

“Will you two stop being lovey-dovey?” Natasha called. “It’s making me feel like a shitty chaperone.”

 

Steve leaned over and stuck his tongue out at his aunt while Bucky sat upright and colored like a virgin caught touching themselves (which, Steve was petulant and frustrated to note, he hadn’t caught Bucky doing even once in the past two and a half months).

 

“Well, aren’t I your chaperone now?” Natasha asked, spreading her hands.

 

“I mean,” Bucky started.

 

“Go away and let me cuddle my Alpha,” Steve told her firmly.

 

“I owe it to my sister to see that you two behave within the confines of propriety!” Natasha countered.

 

Steve got up and plopped into Bucky’s lap. Bucky turned redder and Steve stuck his tongue out at Natasha again before curling against Bucky’s collar.

 

“The fat’s rendered,” Bruce said quietly.

 

“Hang on –” Bucky said, trying to get to the right pouch with Steve sitting on it.

 

Steve sighed and turned his back to Natasha, putting his ass on Bucky’s other leg and freeing the pouch containing the bear meat. Bucky pecked his cheek gratefully before pulling out one of the burlap sacks and extracting a few hunks of bear meat. He laid the meat in the pan with the fat and it immediately began to sizzle. Bucky tried reaching around Steve to prod them with his metal fingers and Steve reluctantly got up from his lap entirely, sitting down on his right instead.

 

“These’ll only be a few minutes,” Bucky explained.

 

Steve curled around Bucky’s flesh arm and set his temple against his shoulder. Bucky shifted the meat here and there with his silver fingers, keeping it from sticking or burning. Bruce settled down opposite them, hugging his knees to his chest and propping up his chin on them while the meat in the pan sizzled. Natasha relaxed her meditative stance and just stared into the fire.

 

Steve’s gaze ended up drifting to her eyes and the way the firelight reflected on them. Her eyes were like black glass with a single red ring in the center, almost resembling Bruce’s bloodstone crystals, just more highly polished. The orange glow painted her normally pale skin golden and made her hair look like flames themselves. The flames reflected in her pupils, the centers of the red irises, and twisted and flickered enchantingly.

 

Steve sat up straighter, looking harder at her eyes. Natasha didn’t seem to notice, but Steve honed in on the reflections of the fire in her eyes with growing suspicion. The distant breeze abruptly picked up, sending the tall grass around them bowing towards the west. The crickets and far off night birds continued their calls, but the wind picked up, brushing at Steve’s clothes and flicking a lock of hair into his face.

 

Steve pushed it away quickly, tucking it back under his headscarf. The wind flicked it back.

 

“Would you mind giving my _càraid_ a few strips of raw meat?” Natasha asked Bucky calmly.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answered, reaching`into the pouch.

 

“It’s cold,” Bruce remarked unprompted.

 

The wind lifted again. The tail of Steve’s headscarf tore out of the back of his dress and flew up. Steve snatched at it and clamped it down over his hair, startled, but no one seemed to notice. Bucky tossed a strip of meat to the hawk and Bruce pulled his cloak around him tighter, burrowing into it against the chill. Natasha never looked away from the fire.

 

Steve, sympathizing with Bruce, moved closer to the warmth of the fire. He stuck out his hands and rubbed them together, but the wind was biting through his borrowed cloak and his clothes. Steve huddled for warmth, shivering.

 

“Steve, are you cold?” Bucky asked at last. “C’mere.”

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder; Bucky waved him over and Steve shuffled over to sit in front of Bucky. Bucky laid his legs out on the dirt and pulled Steve into the V of his thighs, shielding him from the wind. He wrapped his legs and right arm around Steve again and Steve let out a sigh of satisfaction.

 

“I think the meat’s done,” Bucky said then, pulling at the cast iron pan with his silver hand.

 

Bucky picked up the grate and set it with the pan and pot containing the bear claws off to the side to cool off. The second the grate was removed, the flames doubled in size and started twisting wildly. Bruce fell backwards, startled. The hawk squawked and fluttered away Natasha smiled.

 

“Whoa!” Bucky called out, jerking up as though to smack the logs apart and tamp the fire.

 

“No, don’t!” Steve said quickly, catching Bucky’s forearm. “That’s not an accident.”

 

“Took you long enough to notice,” Natasha grumbled.

 

Steve glanced back at her, at the flames dancing in her eyes, then fixed his gaze on the fire again. The flames, three feet high at least, began to twist unnaturally.

 

“The frost is coming early,” Steve announced.

 

“Frost?” Bucky said. He pressed closer to Steve’s back and leaned forward so Steve saw him in the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?” Bucky questioned.

 

“Yes,” Steve said. “The first snowfall is only a few weeks away.”

 

“But –!” Bruce spluttered. “The autumn equinox isn’t even here yet!”  


“The frost will be here by Samhain,” Steve insisted.

 

“But –” Bruce repeated.

 

“Shh!” Steve hissed, throwing out a hand. “She isn’t done!”

 

Bruce gasped, clearly catching on as to who was causing the wind and the fire. Steve peered closer, trying to understand what the Morrígan was trying to tell him next.

 

The flames heat faded, then abruptly redoubled. Steve jerked back, wincing from the sudden heat in his face as the tongues of flame danced. The flames looked almost like figures, embraced tightly as the fire put out tremendous heat. Then Steve understood and he groaned, shrinking back against Bucky.

 

“What?” Bucky asked. “What is it?”

 

Steve twisted around to whisper in Bucky’s ear instead of saying it aloud. He didn’t want the others to hear.

 

“My season,” he hissed. “It’s going to be early. It’ll come by the equinox.”

 

Bucky pulled back quickly, his face flushing. Steve dropped his gaze, then turned around again to face the fire. HIs shoulders drooped, but almost immediately Buck wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle and pulled him in tightly.

 

“Okay,” Bucky murmured back. “We’ll make it work.”

 

Steve jerked around, his eyes wide. Bucky just nodded.

 

“We’ll make it work,” Bucky repeated. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

 

“Okay,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky ducked in closer and kissed Steve’s cheek. Steve shut his eyes and leaned back, letting his breath come out slowly. They would talk about it first. They were going to talk about it. They would talk about it.

 

Steve was suddenly terrified. He’d joked nearly three months ago that his heat would come whether he knew Bucky or not, but he hadn’t thought that it would be true. His heat wasn’t due until November.

 

After the bear meat had been consumed and the fire reduced to coals, Bruce went to his tent and Steve and Bucky to theirs. Natasha stayed out in the open air, having no need for shelter to keep herself dry or warm. The second the tent flap closed behind them, Steve tugged out his spellbook and quickly cast a small ward against eavesdropping.

 

“So,” Bucky started.

 

Steve sat back on his bedroll. “So,” he echoed.

 

Bucky sat down in front of Steve and picked up one of his hands, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Steve swallowed nervously as Bucky’s lips pressed to his skin.

 

“What’s the plan?” Bucky asked, looking up at Steve.

 

“I don’ know,” Steve mumbled. “I haven’t exactly –”  


Bucky lifted an eyebrow. “Shared a heat with anyone?” he questioned.

 

Steve shook his head. He swallowed again, then bit his lip and looked down. “Um, at all,” he admitted.

 

Bucky was quiet for a second. Steve squirmed uncomfortably. He wished Bucky would let go of his hand, almost.

 

“But –” Bucky started. “But you were – Are you saying _you’re_ a virgin?”

 

“Yeah, gettin’ guys off was my job, but I haven’t ever been with anyone,” Steve said quickly. “So, yes. I guess I am a virgin.”

 

“You were a prostitute?” Bucky muttered, confused.

 

Steve gave him a look. “I used my hands,” he insisted, “I never actually got fucked! That’s how you get pregnant or get diseases!” he reminded Bucky exasperatedly.

 

“Wait, but –” Bucky spluttered. He stopped, waved his hands, then screwed up his face in a frown. “You teased _me_ about being a virgin!”

 

“Well, you blushed like one,” Steve pointed out.

 

“You’ve never…” Bucky muttered quietly. His eyes went glassy. “You’ve never…” he mumbled again absently.

 

Steve rolled his eyes at the distance in Bucky’s eyes. “No, never,” he affirmed. “But,” he added, nervous again, “if my heat –”

 

“Okay, wait a second,” Bucky interrupted. He grabbed both of Steve’s hands now and pulled them close to his chest. “You realize we don’t actually have to do anything.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows, sitting up straight. “We don’t?” he asked skeptically. “I’m not sure –”

 

“Look, I don’t get _too_ stupid while I’m rutting,” Bucky interrupted Steve again. “I don’t know how you’d take it, but I’d be able to take care of you without lying with you. Or your aunt could –”

 

“No!” Steve said quickly. Bucky lifted his eyebrows and Steve suddenly found his cheeks heating up. He dropped his gaze, embarrassed. “I want to,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky was quiet. Steve glanced up briefly, just to see Bucky biting nervously on his lower lip, and then he looked away again with his face and ears flaming. Bucky touched his cheek then, sweeping his thumb tenderly over Steve’s face.

 

“Only if you want to,” Bucky said softly.

 

“But what about – about the courting gifts?” Steve panicked, looking up. “I know how much all that means to you –”  


“Hey,” Bucky cut him off gently. He smiled at Steve and squeezed Steve’s hand. “It’s okay,” Bucky promised. “We’ve already done everything out of order.”

 

“You’re sure?” Steve asked shyly.

 

Bucky nodded. “It’s not like we can get married properly in Cretan territory anyway,” he pointed out. “We can make private vows, maybe have a ceremony when we get to Wakanda. But this can be it, sweetheart.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, abruptly smiling. “This is it.”  


Bucky squeezed Steve’s hands, smiling back at him. Steve bit his lip and dropped his gaze back into his lap, and Bucky stroked his cheek again.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to bond yet, either,” Steve admitted quietly.

 

“That’s okay,” Bucky answered. “Here –”

 

Bucky let go of Steve and shoved a hand into one of his pouches. He dug around for a while, squinting and sticking out his tongue for effect as he searched. Steve sniggered a little and Bucky flashed him a wink. Then Bucky let out an exclamation of victory and tugged out a thick strip of leather.

 

“I’ve got this!” Bucky said, sounding proud of himself. “I knew it would come in handy one day.”

 

Steve took it from Bucky gingerly. Then he realized what it was and gasped, dropping it hastily.

 

“A collar?” Steve spluttered angrily. “What the hell, Bucky!”

 

“So I can’t bite you,” Bucky said, now sounding confused. “‘Cause I’ll probably be tempted but if you’re wearing this –”  


“I’m not wearing a collar!” Steve snapped. “You’ve controlled yourself so far, what do I gotta wear it now for?”  


“What?” Bucky said, wrinkling his eyebrows. “I’ll be rutting?” he insisted. “The rut’ll mess with my head while you’re in heat, Steve.”

 

Steve drew back. “Only while I’m in heat?” he questioned. Now he was confused.

 

“Why would –” Bucky started, then his face dropped into displeasure and he sat up. “The Cretans make Omegas wear collars all the time, don’t they?” he asked.  


“To ‘protect’ us,” Steve said, quoting Cretan propaganda. “They don’t enforce it as much in Yorke, but all the Omegas in Cretus are forced to wear collars so they can’t be bitten by anyone. They claim that it’s a symbol of liberty, but what they really do is enforce the idea that we can’t defend ourselves or think for ourselves because the keys to the locks are always held by an Alpha, not the Omega!”

 

“This doesn’t have a lock,” Bucky told Steve, picking up the collar again and showing it to him. “It just has a very complicated buckle so that I won’t be able to let my rut get the better of me.”

 

Steve looked down at it. The lack of a lock reassured him, and the idea that he’d have some kind of defense against an accidental bond was a relief as well. He sighed and took it from Bucky, running his fingers over the leather and examining the buckle.

 

“Sorry I snapped at you,” Steve said. “I just – I didn’t expect you to whip out a _collar._ ”

 

“It’s your choice,” Bucky said quickly. “I just thought it was a good idea. You’d only need to wear it during the heat.”

 

“It does make sense,” Steve muttered reluctantly.

 

He hadn’t had to wear a collar since he joined the Red Room, but in the year between Steve’s presenting and his joining the courtesan guild, he’d had a collar buckled around his throat every time he left the Wilson’s house. Pa Wilson had carried the key to it and the collars of all his unwed daughters. Sam had gotten to carry Steve’s key on occasion, but Steve had never been allowed to take it himself. He’d hardly ever touched it. He hated wearing the collar and hated the fact that he wasn’t allowed to control anything for it. It was part of why he’d left for the Red Room; courtesans and prostitutes didn’t have to wear collars.

 

Steve held this new collar up to the light, considering it, then sighed and just wrapped the damn thing around his neck to test the fit. He struggled with the buckle for a second, but got it after a moment and dropped his hands. He pursed his lips, then moved his head around.

 

“It’s not as restrictive,” Steve remarked. “Every other collar I’ve seen or worn l keeps your head from moving around too much.”

 

“This is just to cover your scent gland,” Bucky added. “Nothing more.”

 

Steve nodded and started getting the buckle undone again. “Thank you,” he said. “It probably is a good idea.”

 

Bucky nodded, leaning back on his pelvis. Steve put the collar down, then just stared at the space between their knees for a while.

 

“I know you said you can’t conceive,” Bucky began quietly after a moment had passed. “But what are we going to do if you do?”

 

“Uh, be really startled?” Steve said, flicking up his eyebrows. “It really isn’t possible, Buck.”

 

“I managed to stay outta the hands of the Cretan Army for the past forty years by planning for the impossible, Stevie,” Bucky pointed out. “So, just in case it does happen?”

 

Steve shrugged. “After we get over the shock, have a kid, I guess? We wouldn’t have much choice.”

 

“I have herbs,” Bucky said gently.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted a little. Bucky grimaced some and shrugged. Steve looked away, then let out a small _huh_ and nodded slowly.

 

“I guess there’s that,” he mused. “But…”

 

“That’s why I’m asking,” Bucky said when Steve didn’t finish. “It’s also your choice.”

 

Steve thought about it. “Keep it,” he decided. “I like kids. I’m good with ‘em. And it probably would be my only chance.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. “Is there anything else we should…?”

 

Steve shrugged a bit hopelessly. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t – I know I talk big, but that’s all talk.” he looked down, feeling almost ashamed. “Most of my training was hypothetical and the rest of it focused on making pleasure with just my hands. I don’t know any more than that.”

 

“No, not that,” Bucky said quickly. He touched Steve’s chin, lifting Steve’s face to make Steve look him in the eye and Bucky smiled sweetly. “I meant was there anything else you’re worried about?”

 

Steve hesitated, his mouth opening with no words coming out. Bucky just waited patiently, his hand eventually moving to cup Steve’s cheek instead of his chin.

 

“What about the others?” Steve asked. “I – I don’t really think I want them around during –”

 

“We’ll split up,” Bucky said quickly. “You ‘n’ me’ll find someplace safe to camp out and we’ll send Natasha and Bruce back towards the Narrowood. They’ll be fine on their own.”  


“What about us?” Steve pressed nervously. “What if we get caught?”

 

“We’ll use that spellbook,” Bucky reminded him. “That glamor and the blessings Bruce has taught you, my wards, everything.”

 

“Wards don’t block smell!” Steve insisted. “I don’ know if you been around an Omega in heat recently, but it kinda stinks!”

 

“I mark the shit outta our campsite,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Nobody’d be able to tell that you’re a man from your heat-scent if I stink up the place first.”  


Steve wrinkled his nose, leaning back. “Are you gonna pee on everything?” he asked suspiciously.

 

Bucky grimaced a little. “Sorry, but it works,” he said. “It’s faster than sweating all over the place or whatever.”

 

“Gross,” Steve muttered, rolling his eyes.

 

“I gotta protect my Omega!” Bucky said, grabbing Steve by the waist abruptly and tugging him into his lap. Bucky nuzzled Steve’s neck, a grin on his face, and Steve giggled despite himself. “I gotta make sure nobody thinks you out there on ya own, sweetheart!”

 

“By pissin’ on everything!” Steve laughed. “It’s disgusting!”

 

“Nah, see, I go around the edge’a the wards,” Bucky pointed out. He nodded sagely then, reaching up and tapping Steve’s nose once. “Works like a charm.”

 

“You done this before?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I mean,” Bucky started, his face falling, “no? But that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re stuck outside like this!”

 

“Are you sure it’s not the fact that you’re a werewolf?” Steve questioned.

 

Bucky looked ahead, frowning. “No?” he said after a long pause.

 

“See?” Steve said. He pushed off Bucky’s lap and reached up to untie his headscarf. “But Buck?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky said, already reaching for the hairbrush. “I got it.”

 

“No, not that,” Steve said. Bucky paused, frowning again, and Steve hastily added: “Well, yes, I want you to brush my hair, but that’s not what I meant.”

 

“What then?” Bucky asked, taking out the hairbrush anyway.

 

Steve tried to hold Bucky’s eye but failed, glancing down as he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “I don’t really want my first time,” he began quietly, “to be _while_ I’m in heat. Yannow?”   


“Oh,” Bucky said. “Right, of course.”

 

Steve glanced up. Bucky visibly swallowed, a bead of sweat appearing at his temple. Bucky nodded several times, mumbling _right_ under his breath. His cheeks were flushed, otherwise Steve would be worried.

 

“So…” Steve began. He released his headscarf and laid it off to the side, then freed the bow holding shut the laces at the front of his dress.

 

“We’ll split up tomorrow,” Bucky said quickly. “Equinox is barely a week away, better to get a head start.”

 

Steve’s lips split into a grin and he laughed lightly, shaking his head.

 

“Full moon’s in a few days anyway,” Bucky added with several firm nods. “Should leave anyway.”

 

Steve chuckled more. He shifted onto his knees and took Bucky’s face in his hands, tipping up Bucky’s chin.

 

“I love you,” Steve said happily.

 

Bucky reached up and closed his mismatched hands over Steve’s wrists, his lips curling into their own smile. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve leaned in for a kiss. Everything was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _all hail Bucky, Queen of being Extra_


	14. THE CAVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _romance instead of smut, in my good christian household? it's more likely than you think._

##  _[THE CAVE]_

  


Steve was shivering so badly, he was shaking the wagon. The wagon that was moving. The wagon that was moving over uneven dirt roads in the most untraveled corner of Cretus. Bucky would be impressed if he weren’t so damn terrified that Steve’s fever would break into full heat before he found a safe place to set up a den.

 

And Bucky was going to get Steve a real gods’ damned den, or he wasn’t a hundred and-one-year-old werewolf.

 

They had barely left Natasha and Bruce to double back to the Narrowood that morning when Steve had developed the fever. Bucky had only seen one Omega beginning heat in his entire life other than Steve, but like every other boy in his village, he’d had the knowledge of heat’s progress hammered into his brain the second he’d presented. First was a low fever, then deliriousness, then a constant need for attention and anxiety if that attention wasn’t given. Then came increased hunger and thirst, and after that, the fever got worse before the final stage of pre-heat began. At this time of year, Steve would get chills along with the worsening fever.

 

Steve had hit chills nearly an hour ago.

 

“I’m hungry,” Steve whimpered for the fifth time since sunhigh.

 

Bucky pulled some jerky from his belt. Steve grimaced but took it, tearing into it without complaint. The last few times, he’d made Bucky dig around for something better. The fact that Steve was hungry enough to eat _jerky,_ which was very good for him regardless of the fact that he hated it, was a bad sign.

 

“Nearly there,” Bucky promised him.

 

Steve whined softly and burrowed deeper into his cloak and quilt. “Buck,” he mumbled, pressing against Bucky’s arm. “My elbows hurt.”

 

“Do your knees and hips hurt?” Bucky asked.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve answered faintly.

 

“You’re fine,” Bucky said hastily. Which was not true, Steve’s heat had to be barely a few hours away at that point if his joints were starting to ache. “Do some stretches, sweetheart. And come sit in my lap, okay?”

 

Steve stretched out his arms and feet, folding in half some as he groaned uncomfortably. Bucky whistled to Patchouli and snapped her reins, scanning the face of the mountain for any cave at this point. He’d love to find a bear’s den, one that was laden with scent and contained nothing too difficult for Bucky to take down with Steve in this condition, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He needs a cave and he knew that anything on _this_ side of Dragon’s Roost was too close to the Narrowood for the Cretans even dare go near, so he didn’t give a shit. He just needed one cave big enough, one cave!

 

“Are you sure there isn’t a dragon here anymore?” Steve asked Bucky, sounding almost drunk at this point.

 

“Yep,” Bucky said. “Come sit in my lap, Stevie.”

 

“I am fine,” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky shoved the reins in his teeth, twisted to the side, and picked Steve up by the waist to haul into his lap. Steve squeaked, startled, and Bucky grabbed the reins again before locking his arms around Steve.

 

“That was my plan all along,” Steve claimed. “Can you show off your muscles, Buck? Ple–eee–ease?”

 

“As soon as I find where we’re hiding out,” Bucky said, pulling on the reins to take Patchouli around an outcropping in the mountain. “I’ll flex all you want, sweetheart, just gimme a minute.”

 

“‘M cold,” Steve mumbled, pressing against Bucky’s chest. “I should light something on fire.”

 

“No, no, that is a terrible idea,” Bucky said quickly. “No fire, Stevie.”

 

“Aw, but, Buck!” Steve whined. “I’m cold!”

 

“I got you, Stevie,” Bucky reminded him.

 

He ducked his head and nuzzled his cheek into Steve’s headscarf, probably for the hundredth time since Steve’s fever had begun several hours ago, but who was counting? (It was the 178th time).

 

“We’re almost there.”

 

“How cool would it be if there was still a dragon in the mountain?” Steve asked. He twisted abruptly in Bucky’s lap, tugging his blankets into a better position, then pushed his face into Bucky’s neck and Bucky lifted his chin to let him. “We could fight it!” Steve giggled.

 

“Dragons are extinct,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Pfft,” Steve answered. “Hey, do you think we could take a dragon?”

 

“If it was already dead, sure,” Bucky said. “If it had anything more than thirty seconds left to live, no.”

 

“I think we could take a dragon,” Steve muttered. “I’d just turn off the air.”

 

“Cave!” Bucky shouted triumphantly.

 

“Huh?” Steve said, sitting up. “Cave!” he cried. “Where?”

 

Bucky hastily yanked back on Patchouli’s reins, then just dropped them and scooped Steve up in his arms before putting him back on the bench. “Stay here and be quiet,” Bucky said with command in his voice.

 

Steve grinned like he had sunshine in the gaps of his teeth and nodded, happy to be obedient to Bucky’s Alpha voice. Bucky cupped Steve’s cheeks and planted a quick kiss on his lips, then grabbed his longsword from the wagon of the cart and hopped down.

 

Bucky strapped the sword to his hip as he headed for the mouth of the cave. It was still a fair distance off, since he didn’t want Steve too near it until he was sure it was clear and not actually just a giant tunnel into the mountain, but once Bucky had fastened the scabbard to his hip, he broke into a run.

 

A dozen yards off, Bucky stopped on his heel and crouched. He sniffed the air, then opened his mouth and inhaled carefully. His tongue was better than his nose so close to the full moon and Bucky hadn’t even _begun_ to panic over what was going to happen if Steve was still in heat when the full moon came. Bucky tasted the air and caught the scent of –

 

“Aw, shit,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Wolves. Not werewolves, just regular ones. But dealing with a whole pack of wolves in his human form would take too long; attacking them at all would take too long. Bucky sighed and unfastened the sword he’d just strapped to his hip, then started stripping off the rest of his equipment and armor. He glanced back towards the wagon, but Steve’s distant form hadn’t moved and Bucky trusted that the power of his Alpha voice would keep Steve there until he returned. Bucky tugged off his smallclothes at last, then cracked his neck and knuckles before dropping onto all fours.

 

He was a wolf before he hit the ground. Bucky shook out his fur, fighting back the distaste he had for shifting outside of the full moon where he didn’t have a choice, and bared his teeth in an experimental snarl.

 

It didn’t take long for his human urges to be shunted aside. Bucky began a slow stalk towards the cave, a low growl building deep in his throat with every step he took. He needed the cave. His Omega was in danger. He was going to take this cave.

 

Bucky was met outside the cave by six timberwolves, all with hackles raised and teeth bared. Bucky showed them his teeth, his fangs dripping with saliva, and prowled on.

 

The pack’s Alpha wolf stepped forward. He let out a long and angry snarl that ended in a disgusted growl.

 

 _“You have no business here, false-wolf,”_ the pack Alpha told Bucky.

 

 _“I need the cave,”_ Bucky countered in a sharp bark. _“My mate is sick. I need to hide him.”_

 

 _“This is our cave,”_ the pack Alpha growled.

 

 _“Seven sunsets,”_ Bucky growled back. _“Then I leave and your pack may return.”_

 

Another wolf snarled at Bucky. _“You make no demands, false-wolf!”_

 

 _“You do not speak to me!”_ Bucky snarled. _“I deal with the pack Alpha only!”_

 

 _“Alpha says you have no business here,”_ another wolf growled. _“Leave, false-wolf!”_

 

Bucky took one more step forward, shrinking the distance between himself and the pack’s Alpha. He was three times the size of the other wolves, easily, he could take these pups no problem.

 

 _We need to move quickly,_ his human side reminded him.

 

Bucky growled quietly. He shifted his stance, stepped back, then, flattening his ears with disgust at what he was doing, he bowed his head to the pack’s Alpha.

 

 _“My mate is sick,”_ Bucky told the timberwolves again. _“I do not seek blood. I need the cave for seven sunsets.”_

 

 _“A false-wolf is a lying wolf,”_ the pack’s Alpha barked.

 

Bucky growled, but cut it off and stood upright again. Instead of bowing, he sat back on his haunches and showed his throat.

 

 _“Happy?”_ he growled. _“My mate is sick, I need to protect him. You understand.”_

 

The pack Alpha gave pause.

 

 _“I need the cave,”_ Bucky said. _“Just for seven sunsets.”_

 

 _“Lying wolf!”_ several of the other wolves clamored.

 

 _“Show me!”_ the pack Alpha snarled. _“Then maybe you have cave.”_

 

Bucky jumped up and almost snarled but stopped himself quickly. He gnashed his teeth, then flicked an ear and turned around. He started walking back towards the wagon.

 

He felt the pack’s Alpha fall into step beside him. Bucky broke into a run and the other wolf tried to match him step for step, but Bucky’s stride was double the length and in the end, Bucky was forced to slow down. They reached the wagon quickly and Steve peeked out from his blankets when Bucky leapt into the cab of the wagon.

 

“‘S the full moon already?” Steve mumbled in confusion. He stuck a hand out and started stroking Bucky’s ears. “Is it? The sun is still out!”

 

 _“He does not look sick!”_ the pack’s Alpha snarled before Bucky could explain to Steve.

 

“Whoa,” Steve said, propping himself up on an elbow to look at the other wolf. “There are two of you?”

 

Bucky growled gently. _“That’s an actual wolf, Steve.”_

 

Steve looked back at Bucky, then shrugged and huddled back in his blankets. “If you say so, love.”

 

 _“Your mate is not sick!”_ the pack’s Alpha accused Bucky. _“Lying wolf!”_

 

“Mate,” Steve giggled absently.

 

 _“He’s in heat,”_ Bucky growled.

 

 _“Your mate is human!”_ the other wolf barked.

 

 _“Humans have heats, too,”_ Bucky growled again. _“I need the cave for seven sunsets.”_

 

“My heat’s not gonna last –” Steve started to say.

 

Bucky cut him off in a bark. _“Seven sunsets!”_ he insisted.

 

“Whatever, buddy,” Steve muttered.

 

 _“How does your mate understand us?”_ the other wolf barked. _“Your mate is human!”_

 

 _“He is a witch,”_ Bucky growled.

 

The pack’s Alpha flattened his ears and shrank backwards. _“Witch?”_ he growled.

 

Bucky tasted fear on the air. He bared his teeth in what was almost a grin.

 

 _“Witch!”_ he barked. _“A powerful and vengeful witch! His magic is strong and he is easily angered. And he needs your cave.”_

 

The pack’s Alpha shrank further away from the wagon. _“Seven sunrises,”_ he grunted. _“Beginning with this one! And the witch does not curse my pack!”_

 

Bucky jumped down from the wagon. _“Seven sun_ ** _sets_ ** _beginning with this one and the witch does not curse your pack.”_

 

The pack’s Alpha hesitated.

 

 _“Say no,”_ Bucky continued to growl, _“and my mate curses you.”_

 

 _“Seven sunsets beginning with this one,”_ the other wolf agreed in a frightened growl. _“My pack helps guard your cave and the witch_ **_blesses_ ** _my pack!”_ the other wolf barked. _“Deal, false-wolf?”_

 

Bucky grinned again. _“Deal,”_ he growled.

 

“Go,” Steve said with perfect timing.

 

The pack’s Alpha bolted back for the cave. Bucky watched for a second, then jumped onto his hind legs and let his fur shrink away into no more than human hair.

 

“Ooh!” Steve cried, sitting up and grinning. “Bucky, you’re naked!” he said with glee. “You sly wolf,” Steve chuckled.

 

“My stuff’s back up there,” Bucky said, climbing into the cab of the wagon to grab Patchouli’s reins. “It was easier to deal with them on their terms.”

 

“Wait,” Steve said as Bucky whistled to Patchouli and sat his bare ass on the bench. “Can you shift at will?” Steve asked.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I don’t like doing it.”

 

“‘Cause you gotta be naked?” Steve asked with a sage nod.

 

Bucky glanced at him. “Sure,” he said, rolling his eyes as he looked away again. “‘Cause I have to be naked.”

 

Bucky pulled Patchouli to a stop just outside the cave as the pack of timberwolves were still leaving. Bucky jumped down from the wagon and shifted yet again, giving his fur another shake before approaching. The den mothers were herding pups along and the other wolves were carrying kills or trinkets from the cave. The pack Alpha had been watching the migration, but now that Bucky had returned, he was watching Bucky and the wagon.

 

 _“Faster,”_ Bucky grunted.

 

“Bucky, say thank you!” Steve called from the cart.

 

 _“Thank you,”_ Bucky growled reluctantly.

 

The pack Alpha bared his teeth. _“You allow your mate to give you orders?”_ he growled.

 

Bucky turned to face the other wolf. He blinked slowly. Actual wolves were pretty annoying.

 

 _“My mate is a witch,”_ he growled simply.

 

It was close enough to the truth according to his human side. His mate was his equal and Steve could order Bucky around however he liked.

 

The pack Alpha huffed. Bucky growled quietly in his throat and the pack Alpha flattened his ears before backing up respectfully. Still, Bucky was irritated. Animals needed to learn a little bit about equality.

 

 _“Graypelt and Scarsnout guard my cave,”_ the pack Alpha told Bucky. _“Seven sunsets from now, we return, you leave and witch blesses my pack.”_

 

Bucky did not answer. Two other wolves, large and powerful for timberwolves, walked up to Bucky and sat down on their haunches without a sound. It wasn’t difficult to tell which was which; one had a gray pelt and the other had a long and ugly scar on her snout. Timberwolves weren’t known for their creativity.

 

The pack Alpha was the last to leave. The rest of the pack filed down the road from where Steve and Bucky had come, heading for the trees and some secondary den likely. Bucky eyed the two timberwolves that had been left behind. They were only a little bit terrified.

 

 _“Follow,”_ Bucky growled, then headed into the cave. He didn’t want them alone with his mate.

 

Bucky inspected the cave quickly. It reeked like wolves but didn’t smell like shit or piss or dead things. It was only a deep cave and had no connecting tunnels. The floor sloped inward until the back of the cave, where there was a deep indentation in the dirt that would be perfect for a nest. Bucky turned on his heel and faced the two timberwolves left with him.

 

 _“You stay outside of the cave,”_ he growled quietly. _“You howl if humans approach. You fight off any animal you can take by yourselves. You howl if the animal is too dangerous. You do not go near the horse. You do not leave sight of the cave. If you are hungry, suck it up.”_

 

Scarsnout almost bared her teeth. Bucky flashed his at her instead and she flattened her ears. Graypelt did nothing, but Bucky could still smell his apprehension.

 

 _“Understood?”_ Bucky growled.

 

 _“Understood,”_ the timberwolves growled back.

 

 _“Get out,”_ Bucky barked.

 

The timberwolves turned and ran out. Bucky didn’t waste any more time fucking around.

 

He shifted back into human and ran for the wagon. He climbed up and lifted Steve, blanket bundle and all, from the cab and carried him inside the cave. Steve mumbled vague words, but he was asleep as Bucky carried him to the back of the cave. He was in no condition to cast wards or spells, but Bucky had the wolves for backup and the persistent legend of a dragon to keep their enemies away. At any rate, with the wolves helping them, they couldn’t use the glamor spell anyway. Bucky was going to have to be incredibly specific in his prayers to bless the notice-me-not wards to allow the timberwolves to see past it, too.

 

Bucky laid Steve on the hollow in the ground and fixed his bundle of blankets to give him a pillow. Then he ran back for his gear and hauled it inside. Then he put his pants back on, because he actually did not like being naked. He knelt by the hollow and started pulling fur plate after fur plate from his magic belt; quilts, afghans, pillows, anything he had stuffed in his pouches. Bucky dropped them into the hollow with Steve, fished out the collar and left it there as well, then ran back for the wagon and started hauling in their food and other equipment.

 

“Buck!” Steve called, his voice whiny and irritated. “Buck, I’m cold!”  


“I’m coming!” Bucky answered quickly, dropping baskets onto the floor just inside the mouth of the cave. “I gotta get firewood and deal with Patchouli, okay, sweetheart?”

 

“Let her roam free,” Steve declared with a lazy wave of his hand. “We have an understanding.”

 

Bucky hesitated. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea?” he said questioningly.

 

“Nah, we talked,” Steve replied. “It’s fine.”

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder towards Patchouli. The horse whinnied and stomped a hoof.

 

“She promised not to wander,” Steve insisted. “Hey, you want me to do a fire pit? I can dig a pit!”

 

“Sure,” Bucky said over his shoulder without really thinking about it. “Just wait here,” he added, commanding.

 

“‘Kay,” Steve answered as Bucky walked away.

 

Bucky unhitched Patchouli quickly. Then he removed her bridle and looked at her in the eye.

 

“I’m trusting you,” Bucky told her. “Don’t abandon us.”

 

Patchouli knickered softly, then tossed her head and reared up a little, stamping her two front hooves. Bucky sighed and shook his head, stepping out of her way.

 

“‘M talkin’ to a _horse,_ ” Bucky grumbled under his breath. “A _horse._ ”

 

Patchouli trotted past Bucky towards the tall grass between the treeline and the mountain. There, she bent and started munching on the wild grass.

 

Bucky shrugged. He loaded the tackle into the wagon. When he was done, he headed back to the cave to grab his axe and something shiny to leave behind in case there were any fae keep an eye on the forest’s deadwood, which was likely. In the cave, Steve was fussing with the furs and quilts, and there was a round, shallow pit in the middle of the cave.

 

“I made a fire pit!” Steve called, looking up and grinning at Bucky. “I used magic.”

 

Bucky laughed. He crossed the cave and scooped Steve into a hug, squeezing him tightly. Steve rubbed his face into Bucky’s bare chest and started humming softly in happiness. Bucky kissed Steve’s headscarf, then nuzzled his cheek against the fabric for a second before he let go and backed up.

 

“I’m gonna get firewood, I’ll be right back,” Bucky told Steve. “Just a few minutes.”

 

“I’m good,” Steve promised with a nod. “Just a lil’ horny,” he added, holding up his thumb and forefinger and pinching them.

 

“Good to know,” Bucky said. “We’ll, uh, we can – Y’know, when I get back.”  


Steve grinned and nodded, then lifted up onto his toes and shut his eyes, pursing his lips. Bucky gave him a quick kiss, then rubbed their noses together briefly before turning and searching through his magic belt. He grabbed some rope first, then dug around in pouch #12 until he found a string of colored glass beads and a small, round mirror framed with ornate copper to drop into his pocket. Then he grabbed a wood axe and jogged out of the cave for the trees.

 

This part of the Narrowood was rumored to be less dangerous than the southern swath, but one could never be too careful where fae were concerned. Bucky wasn’t sure what the trees would be home to, though dryads and pixies were the likely answer. Either way, a mirror and a necklace were offering plenty and as long as Bucky took nothing more than deadwood and common moss, he wouldn’t be pissing anyone off.

 

He was quick, collecting fallen twigs and chopping up the larger fallen branches into more manageable pieces. He picked moss off a few trees and once he had several large bundles and an armload of kindling, he headed back for the cave at a brisk run. He left the beads and mirror on the forest floor where they would be plainly visible on his way out. Bucky passed Graypelt and Scarsnout on his way back to the cave and ignored them completely, as acknowledging them in passing might give them the wrong idea as to who was the dominant wolf.

 

Bucky reached the mountainside again, then stopped in confusion as he didn’t see the cave opening. He looked around, wondering if he’d gone too far to the west or east. He recognized the bushes and thickets, but couldn’t find the wagon, either.

 

Bucky was getting more confused by the second. The cave had been right _here,_ he knew he was in the right place, but the rock was unblemished and unbroken across the natural boulders and sheer faces. The cave had been right there!

 

“Steve?” Bucky called at last in desperation.

 

At first, there was no change in the sounds around him. Then Bucky heard Steve’s faint voice and he looked around wildly, feeling like an idiot. He called out again, stepping down the road, then the ground rumbled a little.

 

Bucky whipped around to face the mountain again and an outcropping of rock was sinking into the ground. His eyebrows shot up. The wide, flat sheet of rock descended and revealed both the mouth of the cave and Steve, wearing a fur pelt like a shawl and holding up a palmful of fire as a torch.

 

“Hi,” Steve greeted him cheerfully. “I was gonna do the ward thingies but I didn’t wanna have to read all that shit.”

 

“Okay then,” Bucky muttered. “That works.”

 

Steve beamed and Bucky headed inside the cave with the firewood and kindling. Steve raised his hand again and the sheet of rock rose back out of the ground, sealing the cave once more. It cut off all light, but Steve’s palmful of fire cast a warm glow over the cave in the sunlight’s absence. Bucky walked towards the fire pit and Steve followed behind him, transferring the fire from one palm into both and letting it grow in size. Bucky dropped the bundles of firewood and knelt down by the pit, and Steve sat down on the packed dirt next to Bucky with his handfuls of fire held aloft.

 

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked.

 

“It hasn’t started yet,” Steve answered. “And better now that you’re back.”

 

Bucky paused in building a fire to lean over and kiss Steve’s cheek. Steve grinned again, his cheeks rosy under the fire’s gold and orange glow, and he leaned in so Bucky obviously had to kiss his mouth, too. Steve giggled a little and Bucky rubbed their noses together briefly before returning to building the fire.

 

Steve leaned on Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky lined the middle of the fire pit with moss and kindling that would catch easily. He surrounded it with the deadwood, piling it high to fill the whole cave with light and warmth. Finally, Bucky lit a twig from the fire in Steve’s palms and prodded the moss with it.

 

The dry moss caught instantly. The fire spread to the kindling and Bucky bent sideways to blow gently on the growing flames.

 

“Good job,” Steve said. “But my underwear’s soaked in slick already, so can you fuck me now?”

 

Bucky accidentally inhaled smoke and coughed, choking. Steve fell back on the cave floor as he burst into laughter.

 

“Give a fella some warning!” Bucky croaked.

 

“I told you I was starting to get horny!” Steve insisted. He sat up, still giggling, and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “Seriously,” he said.

 

“Has it started?” Bucky asked nervously.

 

Steve shook his head. He shifted onto his knees next to Bucky and touched Bucky’s face, however, shuffling closer.

 

“Bucky,” Steve said very softly, his gaze fixed somewhere just below Bucky’s eyes, “you have a bit of ash on your nose.”

 

Bucky blinked. Steve’s face twitched like he was trying not to grin. Bucky reached up and scrubbed at his nose with his right hand quickly, then circled an arm around Steve’s waist.

 

“Is it gone?” Bucky prompted in a whisper.

 

Steve nodded quickly, his lips pressed tightly together as he was still clearly trying not to grin. Bucky dropped his gaze to Steve’s mouth, then unbiddenly, his tongue swept across his lower lip.

 

Steve gave Bucky’s shoulders a hard shove and Bucky went sprawling, sending up dust. Steve climbed onto top of him and started kissing him ruthlessly. Bucky made a startled noise and his hands flailed about uselessly for a second or two until he realized that he should be _doing_ something with them, at which point he grabbed Steve’s waist. Steve’s hands, as he clearly knew what to do with them, were touching all over Bucky’s torso. Bucky, for a moment, could think of nothing but Steve’s absinthic kiss. Then his brain snapped out of its fog and Bucky got a stronger grip on Steve’s waist before flipping them over on the ground.

 

“We really should get in the nest,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“Good point,” Steve said, nodding. “Carry me?”

 

Bucky climbed off of Steve, then scooped him up and pushed to his feet. Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s neck, grinning, and Bucky swelled a little with pride. He carried Steve over to the back of the cave, where Steve had already built a careful nest out of furs and quilts Bucky had taken from his magic belt. Steve didn’t smell like heat yet, but Bucky was already beginning to rut; by the time Steve’s heat broke, Bucky would be fully prepared for it.

 

“Are you ready?” Bucky asked Steve.

 

“Yes,” Steve said.

 

Bucky laid him tenderly amongst the furs, then knelt over him with a knee on either side of Steve’s hips. Steve looked down as he fumbled with the laces at the front of his dress. Bucky touched Steve’s waist and Steve looked up, his hands pausing.

 

“Can I…?” Bucky asked an incomplete question.

 

Steve bit his lip. His cheeks were dusted with a rosy blush and his freckles from the sun’s kiss stood out in the glow of the firelight. Bucky leaned over Steve and brushed the backs of his knuckles against Steve’s warm cheek. There was such fire in Steve, such warmth. Bucky had felt like there was ice lodged in his lungs since his consciousness was returned to him some forty years ago, but a fire burned under Steve’s skin and Steve was about to willingly give it over to Bucky. Bucky didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve Steve’s kindness or love, he didn’t deserve to be _warm,_ yet Steve gave it anyway.

 

Steve lay his arms above him. Bucky leaned down and tucked his head into Steve’s neck; Steve tilted his head back and turned his chin out, showing his throat, and Bucky kissed the place where Steve’s pulse beat like a war-drum. He kissed again, and again, going down Steve’s neck, and as he did, he undid the laces of Steve’s dress. He pushed his hands under Steve’s body and released the back, until it was loose and ready to be removed.

 

“Boots,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky sat up quickly and fell to the side so he could remove both his boots and Steve’s. He tossed both pairs off to the side of the nest, out of the way, then twisted back to face Steve again.

 

Steve set a hand at his collar. Bucky reached up and untied the scarf covering Steve’s hair, removing it gently.

 

“Should you comb it?” Steve asked in a whisper. “My hair?”

 

“I should,” Bucky admitted.

 

Steve sat up, the shoulders of his tartan gown slipping off his body. Bucky touched Steve’s cheek again, then reached up and pinched a lock of cornsilk hair between his fingers.

 

“I didn’t ever tell you what the significance was?” Bucky said softly as he rubbed the lock of Steve’s hair between his fingers.

 

Steve shook his head.

 

Bucky leaned over to the side and grabbed his magic belt. He didn’t have to dig long in pouch #12 to find the ornate mother-of-pearl and opal hairbrush. He withdrew it, then sat back and shuffled so he sat with his shoulder pressed against Steve’s, and he held the brush between them.

 

“When I was a boy,” Bucky began in a low voice, “my father told me the story of Askr and Embla, the first humans. After the world was created and the gods had settled their quarrels over whose realm was whose, Odin and the Horned God were walking down a beach at sunrise, as they did every day. They came across two pieces of driftwood and for whatever reason, they decided to create the first man and woman from those pieces of driftwood.”

 

Steve took the hairbrush from Bucky, its polished silver reflecting his bright blue eyes.

 

“Odin said to let the humans do as they wished and just left them,” Bucky continued. “The Horned God, though, told the humans to seek out a home. So they started looking. Askr said to build where they were created but Embla insisted they travel Cadör to find their home, as the Horned God had told them to go and look. They traveled for years before they finally found it. They fought demons and fair folk and giants and many things as they looked. And when they did find it –”

 

Bucky paused and reached up to brush through Steve’s hair with his fingers. “Embla’s hair had grown long and matted from their years of hard labor. So Askr fashioned a comb from the teeth of a dragon and knelt before Embla with it and he offered to be her servant for all their remaining years if she would allow him the honor of combing her hair.”  


Steve’s lips curled in a smile and he let out a small laugh. Bucky smiled, too, brushing through Steve’s hair again.

 

“Embla gave Askr permission to comb her hair but she didn’t say if he could be her servant,” Bucky continued. “So Askr combed her hair until it shone in the light and when he was done, Embla turned and vowed to him that _she_ would be _his_ servant all their remaining lives if he would comb her hair every night.”

 

“If he combed hair as good as you do mine, I don’t blame ‘er,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky closed a hand over the handle of the brush. “I’m sure he did,” he said. “But there’s a point. After Embla vowed to be Askr’s servant, Askr fell to his knees and professed his undying love for Embla and asked if they could serve each other equally, if only he could comb her hair every night. Embla accepted and returned his love, and they agreed to be each other’s servants in all things for all their remaining lives.”

 

“So what’s the point?” Steve asked, looking up.

 

Bucky took the brush back from Steve and shifted onto his knees. He held the brush up like a sword and smiled at Steve before bowing his head.

 

“Will you do me the honor,” Bucky began, “of serving you all of my remaining life if only I may comb your hair each night?”

 

Steve touched Bucky’s cheek and lifted his face. He smiled with such warmth and Bucky felt the last of the ice lodged in his soul melting away.

 

“If you would do me the honor of serving you all my remaining life,” Steve answered. “If only you’ll brush my hair each night.”

 

Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek and kissed him. Steve’s hands locked behind Bucky’s neck and the brush sat between them, the metal warmed by their bodies’ output of heat. Bucky broke the kiss and leaned their foreheads together, eyes still shut as he reveled in Steve’s warmth.

 

Bucky kissed Steve once more. As they kissed, Steve squirmed enough that Bucky noticed and leaned back. Steve had removed the tartan gown from over his white undershift and now he tossed it out of the way before starting to tug off his stockings.

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, laughing a little.

 

“Well, it’s supposed to be before bed!” Steve said, looking up at Bucky. “So I wanna be closer to naked.”

 

Bucky laughed for real, though Steve had a point. They were about to… have…

 

Steve was wriggling off his smallclothes from under his shift…

 

Steve snapped his fingers under Bucky’s nose. “Hey, knothead, focus, take your socks off.”

 

Bucky shook himself bodily and blinked several times. Steve snapped his fingers again and Bucky hastened to get his stockings off. He still had his trousers and his small clothes on while Steve was wearing only the white shift. Bucky shook himself again, then picked up the brush and shifted back onto his knees.

 

“You wanna sit in front’a me?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, already moving.

 

Steve settled on one hip in front of Bucky, leaning on one palm to the side. He shook back his hair, gleaming like spun gold in the firelight, and tipped his head back towards Bucky. Bucky set the brush at Steve’s hairline.

 

“My ma told me about Askr and Embla,” Steve said.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky prompted, lovingly running the brush back through Steve’s hair.

 

“But she didn’t know about the hair combing,” Steve added. “She talked about the Horned God telling them how they had to find a home. That they spent seven years searching Cadör for the perfect home and in the end, they just went back to the place they were made.”

 

“I didn’t get that part of the story,” Bucky murmured.

 

“They went back,” Steve said. “And Embla told Askr that the perfect home wasn’t made of silver and gold and furnished with fine things and filled with jewels. The perfect home was a hearth that was always lit and people to keep it that way.”

 

Steve raised a hand, then, and as he unfolded his fingers, gentle flames flickered into being as though they had always danced just over his skin and just hadn’t been visible until then.

 

“And that was when the Horned God returned and blessed their home,” Steve continued. “They congratulated Askr and Embla on discovering that their homes had been each other all along.”

 

Bucky leaned forward and kissed the back of Steve’s neck. Steve curled his fist again and the fire went out.

 

“I guess that’s the point of marriage,” Steve murmured. “To have a home where you know the hearth will always be lit.”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answered, his lips brushing against the back of Steve’s neck. “You’re my home, Steve.”

 

“You’re my home, love,” Steve whispered back.

 

Steve twisted onto his knees and turned to face Bucky. Bucky set down the hairbrush and reached up to cup Steve’s face in his hands.

 

“I don’t want the collar,” Steve said.

 

Bucky faltered, his heart skipping a beat. “You don’t want the collar because…?” he started warily.

 

“Because I want to be bonded to you,” Steve answered steadily. “So our hearth will always be lit.”

 

The firelight danced over Steve’s serious profile. Bucky searched Steve’s eyes, shining gold in the light, and found nothing but honesty in them.

 

Bucky pulled Steve into a new kiss. Steve’s hands pressed to his chest and Bucky grabbed Steve’s waist with his left hand while his right buried in Steve’s hair. Steve’s words sunk into reality and Bucky found his teeth itching to clamp down on Steve’s neck _now,_ to claim him now, to mark him for all their remaining lives, to take, to have, _now._

 

Steve broke the kiss and leaned back on his heels. He grabbed the neck of his shift and Bucky swallowed a lump in his throat. Steve’s cheeks were rosy under the orange glow as he lifted the shift over his neck. Bucky’s heart pounded. He could feel his pulse hammering in his neck.

 

Steve dropped the shift. Bucky couldn’t stop looking, all over his body. Steve set his hands on his thighs and sat back, exposed to Bucky’s eyes. And Bucky just looked.

 

The blush on Steve’s cheeks went down his neck, over his shoulders, lit up his chest and appeared in patches over Steve’s stomach. Steve’s body was pale; if Bucky had thought his face and hands were pale, Steve’s legs and torso were almost as pale as a woodland faerie’s, betraying his heritage again. His flat breasts had a gentle curve to them and his nipples stood out from his skin, pink like his blush. His ribs were faintly visible, light shadows marking their places. Steve’s thighs and arms were visibly muscular, more so than Bucky would have expected. His abdomen creased at the waist as Steve slouched, but there was definition in his stomach and chest. At his stomach, dark blonde hairs grew below his navel, which hung in an oval because of Steve’s posture. Those dark blonde hairs grew upwards as the followed the V of Steve’s torso until a certain point, where they swept in a downward into a curly swatch. Steve’s blush deepened as Bucky’s gaze moved fully downward. Steve’s cock lay against his thighs, pink at the tip and visibly filling with blood. He was circumcised, which was still strange to Bucky despite the fact that he was aware that circumcision had been the norm for the past forty years.

 

The pink color reminded Bucky of a fig, a little unripe but still sweet-smelling. There were other sweetnesses to Steve’s scent, too, but it took Bucky a minute to place the rich sharpness in Steve’s scent as cinnamon. Bucky had only ever smelled cinnamon once before in his life, when he’d been a child and a group of Rromani nomads passed through Brooklyn with spices from Dinaea to trade. Bucky’s mother had bought a curl of cinnamon bark and let all her children get a good whiff of it before she stewed it to make extract.

 

But Steve smelled like cinnamon now, cinnamon and vanilla beans and figs that were just a little bit unripe, overall settling in Bucky’s mind as some sort of sweet treat baking. Bucky looked at Steve’s naked body with awe in his parted lips while Steve just blushed deeper, until looking proved to not be enough. Bucky needed to _touch._

 

Bucky reached out. Steve lifted his chin as Bucky slid his palm over Steve’s throat and Steve left his neck exposed as Bucky let his palm move down Steve’s body. He touched Steve’s chest and brushed his thumb over the pink, pert nipple.

 

Steve let out a soft, shuddering gasp. Bucky reached out with his other hand and touched both of Steve’s nipples at the same time.

 

“Don’t tease me,” Steve whispered.

 

“Then lay down,” Bucky answered softly.

 

Steve slipped onto a hip and swung his legs out from under him. He lay down among the furs and stretched his arms above his head again, showing more dark blonde hairs under his arms and the sharpness of his ribs over his stomach. Bucky stood up on his knees, noting to himself that he would put some meat on Steve’s sharp bones soon, and released the fastenings of his trousers.

 

Steve bit his lip, the flesh turning white under his teeth. Bucky pushed his pants and smallclothes off his hips at the same time and kicked them off and to the side of the nest. He shifted back onto his knees and adds his palms this time, and he crawled slowly over Steve. Steve released his lower lip from between his teeth and the flesh was left swollen and pink, like a slightly under-ripe fig.

 

Bucky ducked and kissed Steve hard. His knees bracketed Steve’s body and the space between them felt charged. Steve’s mouth was hot and, as always, tasted like absinthe.

 

One of Steve’s knees lifted and pressed between Bucky’s thighs. Bucky let him but didn’t rise to the bait; he broke the kiss and dragged his mouth down Steve’s neck.

 

“I make you blood of my blood,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s neck.

 

He shifted and grabbed Steve’s knee, pushing it forward until Steve wrapped it over Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Blood of my blood,” Steve echoed.

 

“I make you bone of my bone,” Bucky said, fitting his lips against Steve’s scent gland.

 

“Bone of my bone,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky reached between Steve’s legs, seeking with his left hand Steve’s wet hole. Steve gasped as Bucky found it and began gently probing into it, preparing Steve’s body for Bucky to take him.

 

“I give you my sword,” Bucky promised, pushing his fingers one at a time into Steve’s body. “I swear you my undying servitude, loyalty, and love.”

 

Steve’s hands swept over Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky felt the telltale tickle of heat that told him Steve’s fingers had flames dancing between them. Bucky parted his mouth over Steve’s scent gland and licked at it, taking in Steve’s sweet taste, and Steve moaned softly.

 

“I will cherish and honor you,” Bucky swore, “I will defend you, tooth and claw, to my last breath.”

 

Bucky worked a third and fourth finger into Steve’s body, not wanting to risk hurting him in his first time. Bucky knew how much pain a torn asshole could cause, he wasn’t going to put Steve through that for their consummation. Steve panted and squirmed anyway, and Bucky was left wondering if Steve had ever even fingered himself, Steve’s expression was so lost to pleasure.

 

“I give you all that is mine to give,” Bucky said against Steve’s skin. “All my earthly possessions and my very soul shall be yours from now unto Ragnarok.”

 

Bucky removed his fingers and Steve, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, keened softly at their lost. Bucky kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth and pushed Steve’s other thigh out as he looked down to line up. Steve grabbed Bucky’s face with both hands and brought their mouths back together and they swallowed each other’s moans as Bucky pushed in.

 

“I give you my magic,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s lips. “I swear my undying servitude, loyalty, and love.”

 

Bucky returned his mouth to Steve’s scent gland, licking and sucking on it as he started moving in a fast-growing rhythm.

 

“I will cherish and honor you,” Steve repeated, “I will fight for you, with everything I have, to my last breath.”

 

Where their skin touched felt like fire to Bucky. In fact, there was a warmth in the air that wasn’t the hearth or Steve’s impending heat or the blood rushing in either of their bodies.

 

“I give you all that is mine to give,” Steve continued the vow in a breathless tone, “all my earthly possessions and even my soul shall be yours until Ragnarok.”

 

“This I vow,” Bucky panted into Steve’s neck.

 

“This I vow,” Steve answered.

 

The magic between them came to a head as Steve gasped and climaxed under Bucky, drawing Bucky to slam home one last time and spill inside Steve. Bucky sank his teeth into Steve’s scent gland at the same time and the magic burst.

 

The fire roared to a new height and flashed a rainbow of colors. The ground rumbled and shook loose rocks from the ceiling and walls of the cave. A wind tore through the unsealed cracks in the cave, sending the furs and Bucky’s hair fluttering. Bucky felt Steve’s scent gland pulsing against his teeth but his jaw stayed clamped shut. Steve was still coming under him, his voice keening out an extended moan, and the magic of their vow made everything ten times as intense.

 

It all stopped just as quickly as it started. Bucky released his jaw and sucked on the mark he’d left on Steve’s neck until it stopped oozing blood. When it did, Bucky gathered Steve up in his arms and flipped them quickly. Steve lay on Bucky’s chest, his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open. Bucky prodded him until Steve stirred and pushed up. Bucky let his head fall back to show his throat to Steve.

 

“What –?” Steve muttered.

 

“Your turn,” Bucky said.

 

“I don’t have to bite you?” Steve said, sounding confused.

 

“Do it anyway,” Bucky answered. “Please?”

 

He tipped his head to the side. Bucky watched as Steve licked his lips, then he shut his eyes when Steve lowered his mouth to Bucky’s neck. Steve licked a few times over Bucky’s scent gland and Bucky felt his body shivering in anticipation. Steve parted his lips on Bucky’s skin, his breath hot.

 

Steve’s teeth biting down were painful, but the rush of sensation and magic that filled Bucky’s head overpowered the pain. The vow was sealed twice over. Steve’s teeth retracted a lot sooner than Bucky’s would have and he licked the bite mark instead of sucking on it to soothe it. Bucky reached up and brushed a hand through Steve’s hair, reveling in the cool cornsilk touch.

 

“Omega,” Bucky murmured.

 

“Alpha,” Steve purred against Bucky’s neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _there are few things sweeter and softer than this vow scene. i hope you liked it and i'll see you tomorrow!_


	15. THE DRAGON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _shhh it's still monday. anyway, in this steve has BDE and we get another party member_

##  _[THE DRAGON]_

  


The next few days were a blur. Not long after they made and sealed their vow, Steve’s heat began in full swing. It was a blessing that Bucky had killed that bear just the day before, because it meant he didn’t have to leave the cave to go hunting; he just had to set up the grate over the fire and fry the meat in its own fat. Bucky had prepared most of his early life, from the moment he presented as an Alpha, to care for an Omega in heat but none of it really came close to reality.

 

Steve was insatiable. The first three or four days, he was so needy and demanding. It left Bucky in a headrush, but he was all too willing to just lie back and let Steve take what he wanted. Steve’s heat and Bucky’s rut meant they hardly left the nest of fur plates at the back of the cave, and each time Bucky insisted they stop and eat, Steve refused to leave Bucky’s arms or even let him pull out.

 

Nobody ever told Bucky as a boy that his future Omega would resist the notion of Bucky removing his knot and Bucky hadn’t really looked into teaching himself further about caring for an Omega in heat in the future, but once he thought about it, it made sense. It complicated things as Bucky still had to cook and mark the exit of the cave, covered by the sheet of rock as it was.

 

But by the fifth day, the scent of heat faded from Steve’s skin and he fell into a deep sleep. Bucky was prepared for that and he made sure Steve ate and drank water every time he woke to relieve himself. (They kept a bucket on the far side of the cave and at one point, Steve used magic to poke a hole through the rock to create a vent to make sure it didn’t smell.) (Literally, he made this adorable pouty face and poked the rock wall above the bucket and the rock just popped out in a cylinder under his finger.)

 

On the sixth day, Bucky quit marking the exit of the cave, as he knew the wolves wouldn’t be happy if his scent was still powerful after the seventh sunset when they returned. Steve was still sleeping, but his fever finally broke by that evening.

 

On the seventh day, Steve rose from his slumber; barely in time. Bucky could see the sun going down through a small crack in the sheet of rock.

 

“Hey,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Hi,” Bucky said, then just got lost in just how much he loved this damn Omega.

 

He lay down next to Steve and nuzzled his cheek. Steve giggled and hooked his fingers into Bucky’s shirt. Bucky kissed Steve’s neck, then did it again, then again, until he reached the mark on Steve’s scent gland.

 

“We need to get out of here,” Bucky murmured against the mark.

 

Steve hummed softly.

 

“The wolves want their cave back,” Bucky added, lifting his head.

 

Steve squinted. “I didn’t dream that, then?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Uh, you have to bless their pack.”

 

Steve lifted a hand and gave Bucky a sleepy thumb’s up. “‘Kay,” he mumbled again. “Can I bless them with good rest for this season?”

 

“Dunno,” Bucky said. “But we do have to get out of their cave.”

 

Steve rolled over. “‘M not stopping you,” he said.

 

“The cave entrance,” Bucky pointed out.

 

Steve lifted his head, huffed, then pointed. He screwed up his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose. The ground groaned, then pebbles rattled and the sheet of rock blocking the cave entrance sank into the ground. Steve collapsed into the furs again.

 

“Wake me up for blessings,” he said.

 

Bucky chuckled. He wrapped Steve in the furs, then carried the bundle of fur and Omega out to the wagon. Patchouli was still faithfully outside, munching on grass, and Bucky gave her a nod. She whinnied and Steve laughed softly. Bucky ignored the horse and his mate – _his mate!_ his mind kept excitedly reminding him – and set the bundle that was Steve in the front of the wagon bed. Steve yawned and curled up further, buried in the furs.

 

Bucky went back and emptied the cave of their things. He collected his armor and tools and bundled up Steve’s clothes – everything but the shift he was still wearing –, and stuck it all in the wagon. He got the tackle out and coaxed Patchouli into letting him hitch her to the wagon, then climbed up and joined Steve in the wagon bed.

 

Bucky shimmied out of his trousers, shirt, and boots. Once he was naked, he transformed into the wolf.

 

Steve lifted his head as Bucky clambered clumsily on top of him. Steve chuckled and lifted a hand from the haphazard nest of furs to pet his snout. Bucky snorted, then flattened his ears and lay down on top of Steve, thumping his tail against the floor of the wagon.

 

“Silly wolf,” Steve murmured with a soft smile.

 

Bucky slunk forward and licked Steve’s face. Steve squealed, disgusted, and Bucky did it again, his ears lifting. Steve started giggling and Bucky lay his head down on Steve’s chest, his nose close to Steve’s chin. He huffed softly.

 

_“You smell good.”_

 

“You smell awful,” Steve laughed. “Like you need a bath.”

 

Bucky huffed again, offended this time. _“I do not!”_

 

“You do!” Steve insisted, shifting under Bucky.

 

He reached up and started petting Bucky’s ears and Bucky let his weight drop more onto Steve’s body, exhaling.

 

“Your breath is awful,” Steve murmured.

 

 _“Wolf breath,”_ Bucky huffed.

 

Steve laughed again. Bucky licked Steve’s hand the next time it came back around.

 

“What are we waiting for?” Steve asked.

 

 _“The wolves,”_ Bucky answered, sitting up and perking his ears. _“You have to bless them.”_

 

“Right,” Steve said. “Of course.”

 

A branch cracked.

 

Bucky jumped up, listening. He jerked his head around towards the treeline and spotted Scarsnout and Graypelt slinking out from the forest. Bucky fluffed up his fur, crouching over Steve, and growled low. Scarsnout and Graypelt stepped away from the trees, but took a wide berth around the wagon, their ears flat and hackles low. Bucky growled more, but didn’t bare his teeth.

 

Scarsnout lay down just outside the cave entrance, her belly pressed to the ground. Graypelt moved to stand over her, then lifted his lips to show Bucky his teeth without growling.

 

Bucky lay down again over Steve, halting his growl but keeping his eye on the timberwolves. Graypelt bent his head, licking between Scarsnout’s ears. Scarsnout kept her ears flattened to her skull.

 

A wolf howled nearby then. Bucky lifted up some, turning his gaze towards the road, and spotted the first of the timberwolf pack making their way back to the cave. Graypelt howled in return and Bucky pushed up again to lift his snout to the sky and answer with his own howl.

 

Steve reached up and pushed his fingers into the fur of Bucky’s chest, scratching his nails, and Bucky ducked his head enough to lick Steve’s wrist. Steve smiled up at him, his scent pleased. Bucky crouched again to rub his snout against Steve’s neck. Steve hummed happily.

 

The timberwolf pack reached the cave and Graypelt and Scarsnout joined them. The pack Alpha entered the cave, followed by two others, then exited again and communicated softly with the pack. The mother wolves and pups slipped into the cave, as did several of the males, and the pack Alpha approached the wagon.

 

Bucky stepped over Steve and crossed to the edge of the wagon bed. He jumped down and sat before the pack Alpha.

 

 _“A deal was struck,”_ the pack Alpha growled without greeting.

 

 _“My mate will bless you,”_ Bucky agreed. _“What blessing?”_

 

 _“Good hunting!”_ the pack Alpha barked.

 

Bucky turned and jumped back into the wagon. He crossed to the pile of furs and sniffed along Steve’s hair and neck; Steve giggled, twisting away from Bucky’s breath.

 

“That tickles,” he said.

 

 _“They want good hunting,”_ Bucky told him, huffing. _“Can you do that?”_

 

Steve nodded, pushing up into a sitting position. Bucky stepped backwards, then dropped his haunches and sat. Steve scratched his head, then pulled a fur over his shoulders and hugged it around himself. He went digging in one of the crates, eventually pulling out one of Bruce’s books. Then he grabbed Bucky’s magic belt and dug around in it. Bucky got up and padded forward, sniffing curiously. Steve withdrew clover and a candle from the pouches, then got up and walked on his knees to the edge of the wagon. The pack Alpha wolf edged backwards, flattening his ears against his head.

 

Steve cleared his throat, then snapped his fingers and the candle in his hand lit. The pack Alpha edged away again. Steve didn’t seem to notice. He put the candle on the edge of the wagon, then tore up the clover and held it to the flame.

 

“I call on the Horned God,” Steve said. “These servants of yours beg for good hunting through the winter, that none of them may fall ill or weak from starvation. I ask Amaethon to place his blessings on this pack of wolves and that Ullr watch over them as they hunt.”

 

Steve blew the ashes of the clover from his palm over the pack Alpha; the wolf snorted and shook himself.

 

“You’re blessed,” Steve declared. “Be wise and merciful. Do no harm, take no shit. Whatever.”

 

Steve then blew out the candle, turned, and hobbled back on his knees to the pile of furs. He dropped the book back in its crate and flopped down, twisting to get the furs where he wanted them.

 

Bucky looked at the timberwolf. The pack Alpha sneezed.

 

 _“I think we’re done here,”_ Bucky huffed.

 

 _“Get out,”_ the timberwolf growled.

 

Bucky jumped down from the wagon bed. The pack Alpha flattened his ears and shrank back; Bucky was three times his size, after all.

 

Bucky stared him down. The timberwolf lasted a few seconds, then bared his teeth and slunk away towards the cave. Bucky, satisfied, jumped back into the wagon.

 

He changed back into a man and dressed again, this time putting on his armor. He paused to make sure Steve was properly bundled up and to give him a kiss, then climbed into the cab of the wagon and clicked his tongue at Patchouli.

 

“Whoa, girl,” he called.

 

Patchouli knickered and tossed her head as she started into motion. Bucky cast a glance over his shoulder at Steve, then shifted in the cab and flung an arm over the back into the bed. He felt around until his hand hit Steve’s hair. Steve made a soft noise.

 

“We’ll be camping before long,” Bucky promised without looking.

 

Steve mumbled something that sounded like an affirmation and Bucky fixed his eyes on the road. He steered Patchouli with his left hand, his right tangling in Steve’s hair. After a minute, Steve reached up and laced his fingers with Bucky’s. Bucky squeezed his hand.

 

Bucky wanted to get down from the mountain and away from the forest before he stopped for the night. Though, if he were honest, he could drive through the night; Steve was already set up to nap. Bucky could drive Patchouli until she had to stop.

 

But Steve was still recovering from heat and Bucky wanted to wrap around him; he was still rutting and not having Steve in his arm made him nervous.

 

The road, unkempt as it was, took them away from the edge of the forest and the mountain. Bucky cast glances up Dragon’s Peak now and then, watching for lights or movement. Patchouli moved slowly as the sunlight faded and Bucky figured she would start knickering worriedly around nightfall. But the moon was rising already and it was filling. Filling too much, as well. The full moon was maybe a week away.

 

They had left Natasha and Bruce a week ago with the promise of meeting where the River Titan parted the Narrowood. Natasha promised that she would be able to find them without struggle and Bucky hadn’t questioned it. The river was maybe a day’s travel away if Bucky could get a few miles in before nightfall.

 

The road met a small brook and began to run parallel it, going west. Bucky needed to go south some, but a steep ravine kept him from crossing the brook yet. He clicked his tongue to Patchouli and let her carry on as she wished. She walked at a light trot, slowed by the growing darkness.

 

“Bucky,” Steve mumbled perhaps an hour later, “I’m tired.”

 

“Sleep,” Bucky encouraged him.

 

He heard the furs rustling. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Steve sitting up, pulling a heavy pelt over his shoulders; a bear’s, likely the bear Bucky had just killed. The pelt still had the animal’s face attached, the jaw cut off, and Steve hooked the snout of the pelt over his head. He climbed over the back of the cab and Bucky lifted his arm to let Steve settle into his side, wrapped in the pelt.

 

Steve rubbed his face into Bucky’s chest. “Can’t sleep,” he complained. “You’re not back there.”

 

Bucky dropped a kiss onto Steve’s head, covered by the pelt. “We’ll stop soon,” he promised.

 

Patchouli huffed ahead of them. Steve sniggered.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled, “gang up on me, why don’t you?”

 

“You know we love you,” Steve said, looking up at Bucky with a smile.

 

Bucky glanced down, too, offering Steve a warm smile of his own. Patchouli neighed. Steve broke and laughed again.

 

“Okay, one of us loves you,” he said. “Obviously, me.”

 

“As long as you do,” Bucky answered, chuckling. “I know my horse is plotting my demise.”

 

Patchouli neighed again.

 

“She just doesn’t like you,” Steve said. “She likes me better.”  


Bucky rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he grumbled.

 

Steve curled his legs onto the bench, wrapping the pelt around him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waits and hugged him, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s chest. Bucky lay his arm over Steve’s torso, holding him against his side. Steve hummed softly, purring.

 

“I’ll sleep now,” he said.

 

“Okay, baby,” Bucky answered. “You sleep.”

 

Steve dropped a kiss onto Bucky’s chest and relaxed. Bucky corrected Patchouli’s course to follow a bend in the road.

 

The brook babbled softly as Patchouli trotted, her hooves clopping gently against the packed dirt. Bucky kept an eye out for the light of torches as the daylight faded. Twilight rose quickly and a chill rose in the air.

 

Steve shivered and burrowed closer. Bucky reached behind them and grabbed another pelt, pulling it over Steve’s back. Steve simply hugged Bucky tighter.

 

Patchouli began to slow and Bucky had to concede defeat. He whistled and pulled back on the reigns once he spotted a suitable camping spot just off the road; it was a little close for his comfort, but Steve could cast the glamor over them.

 

Bucky pulled Patchouli to a stop and tied the reigns to the front of the cab. He pulled his arm from Steve’s back, then dropped it to his side and turned on the bench to face him more; he bent and kissed the head of the bear covering Steve’s hair.

 

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’ve stopped.”

 

Steve sat up, yawning. Then he shivered and pulled the furs around him tighter.

 

“Cold,” he mumbled.

 

“I’ll set up the tent,” Bucky said. “Would you get a fire going and cast the wards?”

 

Steve nodded, yawning again. Bucky cupped his chin and tilted it up, pulling Steve in for a soft kiss. Steve hummed against his lips, his hands slipping out from his furs to touch Bucky’s chest. Bucky lingered over Steve’s lips for a moment, not wanting to put even an inch between them. But he did, pulling back and jumping down from the wagon. He moved around and started taking out the tent from the wagon bed, moving to a patch of flat grass to set it up.

 

Steve got down as well and with a wave of his hand, sank a shallow pit into the grass in front of where Bucky was setting up the tent. He snapped his fingers and the grass withered around and in the pit; Bucky looked over to watch as Steve waved his hand and the dry grass pulled itself free of the earth and settled into a small pile at the center of the pit.

 

“You’re getting good at this,” Bucky said.

 

Steve shrugged. “I think I’m just getting less fussed ‘bout it,” he mumbled, then yawned again.

 

Bucky chuckled and resumed setting up the tent. He watched Steve’s bear pelt-clad figure moving to the thickets near their campsite and start gathering dry branches from the corner of his eye. Bucky erected the tent, then moved to the wagon and started gathering up the furs that they’d nested in. He took their bedrolls and spread them out in the tent together, then laid out the furs with them.

 

Steve was setting branches in the pit when Bucky stepped out of the tent. Bucky pulled some leftover firewood from their respite in the cave from the wagon and laid it in the pit, as well. Steve fussed with the wood for a second, then snapped his fingers; he yawned again as the dry grass lit and started to lick at the dry bark of the firewood.

 

Bucky knelt down next to him and Steve leaned into him, hugging his bear pelt around him.

 

“Wards,” Steve mumbled.

 

“You can do it,” Bucky encouraged. “Just a minute longer.”

 

Steve nodded, pushing up. “Where’re are the books?” he said, then waved a hand. “Nah, never mind.”

 

Bucky stood up, a little confused. Steve looked around the campsite, then turned and squinted at Bucky. He stepped closer, then took the hilt of Bucky’s sword and drew it. Bucky started, reaching out with his metal hand as if to take the blade back, but Steve shushed him – shushed him, really – and walked around to near the road. He dropped the tip of the sword into the dirt, then began walking, drawing a line.

 

Bucky watched him; Steve began drawing a very wonky circle, going around the tent and the wagon and back to the edge of the road and their campsite, completing the circle. He stepped back and stabbed Bucky’s sword into the ground, sticking it aside, then spun in a slow circle, frowning as he looked around.

 

“Steve?” Bucky prompted.

 

Steve shushed him again. Bucky flicked his eyebrows up and walked nearer. Steve moved up to him, then dug around in the pouch of herbs on his belt before crossing past him. Bucky grabbed his sword, tugging it out of the ground and resheathing it. Steve squatted in front of the fire, the bear pelt pooling behind him. He held out his hands, then raised them. The flames lifted in obedience.

 

“I cast a circle,” Steve announced, “a circle cast, a circle locked, a circle stronghold. I cast a circle and declare it mine until it is broken.”

 

Bucky neared. Steve held out his palmful of herbs and cast them into the fire; the flames roared and the tongues turned black.

 

“Everything living and alive and in between shall respect my circle and will not cross it,” Steve declared.

 

Bucky stepped nearer as Steve lifted his hands. The black flames lifted to a new height, filling the whole circle with an eerie light. Bucky looked over the edges of the line Steve had drawn and saw that the light didn’t extend past it; it even went under Patchouli and the wagon.

 

“Until this circle is released,” Steve said, “everything living and alive and in between shall fuck off ‘cause I said so.”

 

The flames turned a vibrant, bloody red. Bucky blinked. Steve snapped his fingers and the flames dropped to their original size and color, crackling pleasantly. Steve stood up and brushed off his hands.

 

“Circle cast,” he said, sounding proud of himself.

 

“Damn,” Bucky said. “That works?”

 

Steve turned and gave a shrug, the bear’s head slipping off his hair. “I said so,” he answered simply.

 

Bucky bent and picked up a stone. He turned, tossed it in his hand as he looked around, then chucked it as hard as he could towards the brook across the distant road.

 

The pebble soared across the campsite, then hit an invisible barrier and bounced back. Bucky raised his eyebrows.

 

“Damn,” he repeated. “That worked.”

 

“Ha,” Steve said, proud of himself again.

 

Bucky crossed and slipped a hand under the bear pelt to cup the back of Steve’s neck. Steve fell against him, hands curling into his vest, and he looked up at Bucky, his eyes shutting and his mouth parting. Bucky cupped Steve’s hip with his other hand, pulling him flush against him. Steve’s lashes fluttered just a little.

 

“You’re amazing,” Bucky said firmly.

 

Steve’s lips, still parted just a little, curled at the corners. His lashes lifted, looking at Bucky through them.

 

“So kiss me for it,” he said.

 

Bucky pressed their mouths together, immediately obeying.

 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, lifting onto his toes. The bear pelt slid free of Steve’s shoulders, hanging on his head by the snout. Bucky decided he would craft a helmet out of the bear’s face, so it would be stiff on Steve’s crown.

 

Bucky kissed Steve slowly. Steve kissed back demandingly, his fingers digging into Bucky’s skin. Bucky lifted Steve by his hips and braced him against his chest, then carried him into their tent. He lay Steve down amongst the furs and Steve let his arms fall above his head, still looking at Bucky through his lashes.

 

“I’m cold,” he complained softly.

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “I’ll warm you up,” he promised.

 

Later, Bucky curled around Steve’s back and rested his nose in his hair. Steve slept soundly already. Bucky was still awake, his rut making him alert. He watched the entrance to their tent, listening to the faint sounds of Patchouli breathing outside.

 

The night passed slowly. Crickets chirped. A soft breeze gusted outside. The nearby brook trilled a gentle song, one that might lull anyone else to sleep; perhaps guided Steve onto his dreams. Bucky was not going to sleep that night.

 

Steve lay in his arms, their bare skin still touching and Bucky’s knot, though deflated, pressed into Steve’s body. The furs covered their bodies and Bucky had his crossbow and throwing daggers nearby. He simply listened to the world around them, passing them by as nothing was capable of crossing Steve’s circle.

 

Nothing worried him or startled him. At least, not until the heavy thud that shook the earth well into the night.

 

Bucky tugged his body away from Steve’s and leapt up, shifting seamlessly into his wolf-form as he didn’t have time to dress or don armor. Steve woke with a gasp when Bucky pulled away from him, but Bucky shouldered his way out of the tent, his teeth bared and a snarl building in his throat.

 

Outside of the circle, three water spirits were pounding on the invisible barrier. Bucky flattened his ears, then howled to the sky and charged.

 

“Wait, Bucky, don’t –” Steve shouted.

 

Bucky hit the barrier and bounced back just like the pebble. Bucky was thrown back, however, having hit it with much more force. He hit the ground on his flank and scrambled back up, dropping into a hostile stance to growl at the three water spirits.

 

They hissed, but they were kept out just as much as Bucky was kept in. Bucky wasn’t sure what he could do; he couldn't attack them like this, but he wasn’t about to break the circle and let them in.

 

Steve ran up to him, wrapped in the bear’s pelt again; Bucky was startled to notice, however, that the pelt had somehow made itself into a robe, closing over Steve’s front and shielding his modesty. Magic, Bucky assumed after a second. Just as well; he didn’t want anyone seeing Steve’s nakedness.

 

Steve fell to his knees next to Bucky and wrapped his arms over Bucky’s neck. Bucky dropped onto his haunches and nuzzled Steve’s face, trying to reassure him. Outside, the water spirits hissed.

 

“They can’t get in,” Steve said.

 

 _“I know,”_ Bucky growled.

 

“But they know we’re here,” Steve added, sounding worried. “Which means their controller does.”

 

Bucky looked back to the water spirits, ears flat against his skull. He bared his teeth and growled deeper again, warning. The water spirits showed pointed teeth back, hissing in a language Bucky didn’t comprehend.

 

“Someone’s controlling them,” Steve reiterated. “Elementals don’t speak that language.”

 

 _“What language?”_ Bucky asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve said. His face was pale. “But it sounds dark.”

 

The elementals swelled in size, fueled by the brook behind them; the water ran up the bank to reach them, defeating nature.

 

“They didn’t cause the shaking,” Steve said then.

 

Bucky looked back at him. _“What did?”_ he asked in a lower growl.

 

Steve cast his gaze to the skies. He pointed up towards the east.

 

“That,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky looked up.

 

Dragon’s Peak rose far into the sky, no more than five miles from them. Bucky’s fur stood up and he leapt to his feet. The trees between them and the mountain were burning and the mountain’s single peak had suffered a massive rockfall. A massive beast, red and scaly, had burst free of the mountain.

 

The mountain’s namesake. A dragon.

 

 _“Fuck,”_ Bucky barked.

 

“It can’t cross the circle either!” Steve insisted, but he didn’t sound convinced.

 

The dragon lifted its head to the sky and roared. The cry caused Patchouli to lift onto her hind legs and kick, whinnying in fear. The cry would carry for miles, it shook the ground and made Bucky’s teeth rattle in his jaws. The dragon took to the skies, roaring yet again.

 

“They’ll be able to see that from Titan!” Steve cried out.

 

 _“Get on Patchouli,”_ Bucky growled.

 

“What?” Steve said, jerking his gaze back down.

 

Bucky pushed his snout into Steve’s neck and licked at his scent gland, at the bonding scar branded into his skin. _“Get on Patchouli,”_ he repeated. _“You’ll be faster on your own.”_

 

“Oh, fuck no,” Steve spat, shoving Bucky back. “Fuck that. You go down, I go down with you, remember?”

 

Bucky growled again, lashing his tail. Steve grabbed his cheeks, holding his skull in place.

 

“We go down together,” he insisted. “Get that through your head, you dumb wolf!”

 

Bucky broke and pushed closer again, stepping over Steve’s lap. He nuzzled the side of Steve’s head under the fur, pushing his snout into the pelt. Then he whined softly, letting his fear come out.

 

Steve hugged him. “We go down together,” he whispered.

 

Bucky shifted again, coming back to his human form kneeling over Steve’s lap. He surged his arms around Steve and yanked him against this chest, his breath coming out trembling. Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s neck, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Bucky’s hair.

 

“We go down together, love,” Steve whispered again, his words just a breath.

 

“We go down together,” Bucky answered regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

 

Steve hugged him, if it were possible, even tighter. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “You made my life so much better while I had you.”

 

Bucky kissed the side of Steve's head, the pelt covering his hair, then pulled back and smashed their lips together. Steve kissed back with teeth, harsh and unyielding, as the dragon roared again.

 

Bucky broke the kiss, then shifted again, letting his claws come out and tear into the earth. Steve stood and jerked his hands into fists; the bear pelt around him shimmered and thickened; Bucky watched in awe as the fur grew itself around Steve’s arms and hands, until every inch of his skin was covered but for his neck and head, the bear’s head and maw inflating and stiffening on his head; like a crown.

 

He looked like the witches Bucky had been raised to both fear and revere. Steve lifted his hands and flames grew between his fingers, dripping from his hands to hit the ground and hiss out before it caught the grass aflame.

 

The water elementals screeched as they realized the dragon was nearing. Steve widened his stance, his bare feet pushing out from under the bear pelt, then he jumped and when he hit the ground, everything shook just as much as the dragon’s impact. The earth groaned, then stone started to rise around the circle Steve had drawn, building itself up slowly. Bucky watched as it grew and he tried not to think of it as their tomb.

 

The dragon roared once more and beat its wings once; in the scance seconds that they’d had since it had appeared, it had crossed the five or less miles between them and the mountain. Steve twisted his face in a grimace and clenched his fists, straining as he struggled to raise his arms like he was lifting the stone itself. Bucky lashed his tail, at a loss as what to do. He was useless here, nothing to fight.

 

The stone wasn’t going to rise in time. The dragon swooped over them and swung around, diving. It hit the road just beyond the water elementals with an earth-shaking crash; Steve and Bucky both lost their footing, Steve fell to the ground and the stone walls Steve was attempting to lift shuddered and crumbled. The dragon split its jaws and screeched, scrambling forward on taloned feet towards them

 

The water elementals puddled and started to flow back towards the brook. The dragon opened its maw and poured fire out; Bucky braced himself for the fire to spread and break Steve’s circle.

 

But it didn’t.

 

The water elementals screeched, as though in pain. The dragon clawed forward, completely ignoring Steve and Bucky and Patchouli, to chase the puddled water elementals with fire away from the ravine. It blew a circle of fire, trapping the water.

 

Steve pushed up, his hand reaching out to fist in Bucky’s fur. Bucky cocked his head to the side, his ears standing up. The dragon spat more flames directly into the trapped circle of water elementals and the spirits screeched, high-pitched and angry. The dragon reared up onto its hind legs and kicked down into the circle, stamping out the fire. The screeches cut off.

 

“Stay still,” Steve whispered. “Maybe it doesn’t –”

 

The dragon whipped its head around and looked directly at them. Bucky flattened his ears and bared his teeth, growling. Steve scrambled to his feet and conjured palmfuls of fire.

 

The dragon thrust its head towards them; it hit the barrier and bounced back. It snorted smoke and shook its head, then shuffled to face them and sat back. Sat up on its haunches and looked at them. It tipped its head to the side, leaning over.

 

Bucky growled nervously. The dragon dropped onto its front elbows and lowered its head, then crawled forward on its belly towards them. It raised a single claw and poked the air in front of it.

 

Steve’s barrier flashed. The dragon sat up again, then tapped the barrier with its claw.

 

 _“What do we do?!”_ Bucky barked.

 

“Go away!” Steve yelled.

 

The dragon reared back, then shook its head and its ears flopped like it was shaking off a fly. Its huge, luminous eyes narrowed and it lifted onto all four talons, peering at them.

 

“We’re on our honeymoon!” Steve shouted then.

 

Bucky let out a startled yelp, jumping in place to look up at Steve. Steve glanced down at him, then shrugged.

 

“Close enough,” he defended himself.

 

The dragon narrowed its eyes further, however. Smoke trailed from its nostrils. It opened its jaws.

 

Bucky pushed in front of Steve, expecting flames. No flames came.

 

“I know you,” a silky voice hissed from the dragon’s maw.

 

Bucky bared his teeth, growling warningly.

 

“I know you,” the dragon repeated in a soft, serpentine hiss. “ _Witch!_ ” 

 

Bucky snarled at the dragon and barked viciously.

 

“Oh, calm down, Man-Wolf,” the dragon snapped then, sitting back. “I am not going to eat you.”

 

Bucky growled disbelievingly.

 

“Um,” Steve said.

 

Bucky backed up, forcing Steve to step back as well, putting more distance between them and the dragon. The dragon – _rolled its eyes?_

 

“Honestly,” it grumbled. “There’s no point trying to have a civil conversation with a werewolf, you lot only know food and possession.”

 

“Pot, meet kettle,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky shot a warning look over his shoulder at Steve. But the dragon laughed.

 

“A fair point!” it answered. “But,” it added, its maw opening in a toothy grin, “not even dragons are as possessive over their treasure as wolves are over their mates.”

 

Bucky lashed his tail and barked; the dragon was right.

 

“If a dragon had to choose between their lives and their treasure,” the dragon continued, still showing its fangs, “we would choose our lives. Wolves will, to a fault, pick their treasure.”

 

Bucky barked again, snarling. _Hells yes,_ he would.

 

The dragon chuckled, the sound disconcerting as it shook the trees. Patchouli was kneeling on the ground, pressed to the earth in fear. No birds or crickets sang. The dragon observed them.

 

“What ward is this?” the dragon asked, lifting a clawed hand to scratch at Steve’s barrier. “It’s much stronger than most I’ve seen; is it Niallán Ó Cairealláin’s Walls of Stone? Yggdrasil’s Roots? Sanrakshan ke Atoot Sarkil?”

 

“I call it _Steve says keep the fuck out,_ ” Steve retorted.

 

“Original?” the dragon questioned. It chuckled again; Patchouli whinnied fearfully. “Fascinating.”

 

“Again, back to the honeymoon thing,” Steve said. “Fuck off, maybe?”

 

The dragon only chuckled. Bucky, clueless at what else he could do, lashed his tail and snarled. The dragon shook out its wings, then took a step back. Bucky almost perked up.

 

Then the dragon shrank. The wings stretched but shortened; the dragon’s scales turned to skin and its claws turned to hands and feet. A moment later, where the dragon was, a man in wizard’s robes stood before them. Then a pair of bat-like wings, massive and bright red with claws like gold, flexed out from behind the man’s back.

 

The dragon-turned-man rolled his neck and shoulders. He let out a long sigh, lifting his arms and cracking his knuckles. Bucky tensed, tempted to run out and tackle the man.

 

“It’s been centuries since I had to do this,” the dragon complained. “You two better appreciate it.”

 

 _“I’ll appreciate my teeth in your throat,”_ Bucky growled.

 

“Wait,” Steve said, grabbing onto the scruff at the back of Bucky’s neck; Bucky yelped, but dropped to his belly, flattening his ears. Steve stepped beyond Bucky, looking at the dragon with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“I am Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Stephen Strange,” the dragon announced, then flourished a bow. “At your service, Your Majesty.”

 

Bucky lifted his ears, tensing again, but not to pounce. He whined, confused.

 

“‘Your Majesty’?” Steve repeated, tone wary.

 

Bucky could feel his apprehension, but at the same time, Steve was excited. He sensed that they’d found an ally. Bucky wasn’t ready to agree.

 

“You are Steven, son of Sarah, are you not?” Strange asked, lifting from his bow with arched eyebrows.

 

“Yes?” Steve said. “How do you know that?”

 

Strange rolled his eyes; they were just as luminous as they were in dragon-form, bright and orange like glowing embers with vertical slit pupils. Bucky didn’t like them.

 

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme?” Strange said, his tone condescending; Bucky growled again, but Strange ignored him. “I am the only one of my kind to still watch over you mortals, I tend to know pretty much everything.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “Who conjured those water spirits?”

 

Strange actually smiled. “An unfortunate creature, I wouldn’t really call him a man anymore. The Red Skull.”

 

Bucky pressed his belly to the ground and flattened his ears, whining on impulse. Steve stepped back and knelt next to him, his hands sinking into Bucky’s fur. Bucky twisted up and licked at Steve’s face and neck, his ears still flat, and Steve actually let him.

 

“Where is Red Skull?” Steve demanded.

 

“Titan,” Strange answered simply. “In the employ of Thanos.”

 

“What?” Steve gasped.

 

Bucky growled, then. He pushed up and pressed his snout into Steve’s neck, licking at the nape of his neck; he knocked the bear’s crown from Steve’s head, the hood dropping against his back. Steve hardly seemed to notice.

 

“Now, as I was saying,” Strange said, brushing back his perfect coif like it even needed to be adjusted, “I once pledged myself to the service of the King of Yorke –”

 

“Then why the hell did you let Yorke fall?” Steve snapped.

 

“May I finish?” Strange asked.

 

Smoke flushed out from his nostrils, even though he was a man. Bucky did not trust that.

 

“Go on,” Steve grumbled.

 

“I pledged myself to the King of Yorke some, oh –” Strange paused, looking up as though thinking. “Seven thousand years ago? I’m not sure, it could have been eight.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said.

 

“Yes, yes,” Strange replied. “Seven or so thousand years ago that if the kingdom ever were _to_ _fall –_ ”

 

He paused again, as though for emphasis, to make sure they knew that he didn’t have to help in the process of the kingdom falling. Bucky growled shortly; typical, lazy dragon.

 

“I would step in and make sure the throne was protected until a blood descendent took it back,” Strange concluded. “You are the only one left, Majesty.”

 

“I’m aware,” Steve grumbled again.

 

“Oh,” Strange said. He blinked. “Well, no matter. I shall accompany you on your journey to reclaim the throne.”

 

“Really?” Steve questioned.

 

Bucky looked up at him, feeling through their bond that Steve was actually considering accepting the dragon’s help. Bucky nudged his nose at Steve’s hand, trying to communicate as hard as he could through their bond that he would much rather eat the dragon while he didn’t have scales and couldn’t breathe fire.

 

Steve swatted Bucky away. “And you’d help me in all my pursuits to reclaim the throne?”

 

“As I have pledged,” Strange answered.

 

“Great,” Steve replied. “Could you go kill Thanos?”

 

Strange wrinkled his nose distastefully. “I’m not that helpful,” he said.

 

“Well,” Steve sighed, “dragon’s still useful. I’ll take your help.”

 

Bucky scrambled up and around to get in Steve’s face and growled. Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

“You may not eat him,” he said firmly.

 

“Usually people are telling me that,” Strange quipped. “Now, are you going to let me in?”

 

Bucky turned his snout towards Strange and aimed a long glare at him. Steve sighed heavily.

 

“If I must,” he decided, pushing up.

 

Bucky bared his teeth at Strange once more as Steve crossed to the edge of the circle. Bucky slunk closer, watching, as Steve considered the circle.

 

“I think,” Steve murmured, tapping his nose, “nah. Here.”

 

He stuck out his hand to Strange. Bucky lifted his ears and faltered his glower and growl to make a curious noise. Steve’s hand crossed the invisible barrier without failing.

 

Strange hesitantly took Steve’s hand, then even more hesitantly stuck out his foot. It crossed the barrier.

 

“Fascinating,” Strange said, lifting his robes like a skirt and stepping over the line drawn in the earth. “How did you do that?”

 

“I just did,” Steve said simply.

 

Strange hummed. Bucky ducked between their bodies and knocked the dragon’s hand away from Steve, growling again. Strange merely rolled his eyes.

 

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve said, grabbing the scruff of Bucky’s neck and making Bucky yelp in surprise, “we’re going back to bed. You’ll be fine out here, right?”

 

Steve didn’t even wait for a reply. Bucky scrambled to turn as Steve marched away, his paws stumbling in the loose earth now and then. Steve shoved Bucky into the tent, then snapped the flaps shut and flopped down onto their bed; the head of the bear flopped down over his hair, the snout lying on the ground like there really was just a bear lying there, though it had small and hairless pale feet.

 

Bucky shook out his fur and changed back into a man. He cautiously lay down next to Steve and touched his shoulder.

 

“Sweetheart?”

 

“Dragon,” Steve whimpered quietly. “We have a dragon.”

 

Bucky swung his leg over Steve’s and lay down almost on top of him, snuggling close. He pushed the head of the bear pelt aside and revealed Steve’s exhausted face.

 

“That’s one more set’a hands helpin’ out,” Bucky reminded him.

 

Steve nodded. “Hold me?”

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to his nose. “Always,” he promised in a soft murmur.

 

He pulled the furs back over them, cutting off the cold. He cradled Steve in his arms and pinned him to the earth with his leg. Steve rubbed his nose against the scent gland in Bucky’s neck and Bucky kissed his soft, cornsilk hair.

 

“I love you,” he whispered.

 

“Love you, too,” Steve mumbled.

 

Steve slept fitfully after that. Bucky didn’t sleep at all. When dawn rose, he slipped from the furs and dressed in full armor. He woke Steve regretfully and Steve rubbed at his eyes as he sat up. He still wore the bear’s pelt, the face hung on his head just like a crown, but it had lost the robe quality that it had woven itself into the night before.

 

“I should put the teeth back in this,” Bucky murmured, touching the head. “You should wear it more often.”

 

“What about your cloak?” Steve asked, dropping his hands.

 

“I’ll wear it again,” Bucky chuckled.

 

Bucky waited while Steve dressed before he put away all the furs. He left out the bear’s pelt and Steve swung it across his shoulders. Bucky put on the enchanted cloak that Steve had been wearing since they left Brooklyn and fastened it over his shoulders.

 

“Here,” Bucky said, reaching into a pouch at his belt, “take this.”

 

He took out a set of gold cloak fastenings, some heavy thread, and a thick bone needle. Steve took them, then lay out the pelt and pulled its shoulders together. He fit the fastenings where he wanted them, then waved his hand. The needle threaded itself and sewed the fastenings to the pelt on its own in just a minute. Bucky kissed Steve’s hair, then laid his headscarf over it.

 

“Perfect,” he said.

 

Steve smiled as he tied the scarf under his chin. Then he swung the pelt back over his shoulders and fastened it, slipping his arms into that of the bears. His hands were tiny under the bear’s paws, tiny and pale like moonflowers.

 

He looked like a witch should.

 

Bucky helped Steve to his feet, then followed him out of the tent. Outside, Doctor Strange sat cross-legged in the air, floating above the ground. His wings were lax and folded behind him, too. Bucky shook his head at the drama of dragons as he set about taking down the tent.

 

“Good morning,” Strange said.

 

“Morning,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything. The dragon didn’t seem to take that as an offense.

 

“We should get on the road,” Bucky announced, dropping the tent into the wagon. “Steve, would you feed the horse?”

 

“She has a name,” Steve teased.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Strange simply floated into the wagon and settled himself down, looking as if he belonged there. Bucky eyed his wings.

 

“Those are pretty noticeable,” he grumbled while he put away their things. “Any way you can make them invisible?”

 

“If I must,” Strange sighed, then snapped his fingers.

 

The wings unfurled and became boneless and thin as fabric. Then they fluttered and solidified and shrank into a cloak, which fell against Strange’s back and unfurled a collar that stood up around his ears and the claws settled on his collarbones as gold clasps.

 

“Fancy,” Bucky remarked.

 

Strange smiled a little.

 

Steve settled the earth to hide the evidence of their night there as Bucky hitched Patchouli to the wagon. Bucky lifted Steve into the cab and climbed up to sit beside him, taking up the reins.

 

“How old are you?” Steve asked the dragon behind them.

 

“I believe in your definition of years,” Strange mused, “somewhere around as old as Cadör.”

 

“Where are you from?” Steve continued.

 

Bucky clicked his tongue as he snapped the reins. Patchouli tossed her head and began to walk, pulling the wagon onto the road.

 

“Very far from here,” Strange said. “When mortals were born on Cadör, we had already invented lights that did not need fire.”

 

“Why are there no other dragons in Cadör?” Steve asked.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze over his shoulder to look at Strange as he reacted. Strange merely shrugged.

 

“They grew bored of mortals,” he said. “They all went back to where we came or went on to explore other lands.”

 

“Then why did you stay?” Steve pressed. “Weren’t you bored, too?”

 

“No,” Strange answered simply. “I did make a pledge to your people. And though my kind do not see it, I think mortals have more to contribute to the world. Cadör is still very young.”

 

Steve hummed softly. Then he turned around and pulled his bear pelt around him, settling the snout of the bear low on his brow. Bucky lifted his arm and put it around Steve’s shoulders.

 

There was a mist low on the ground as the sun burned away the dew. This road wasn’t one often traveled, and they met no one as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky.

 

Near noon, Bucky stopped to let Patchouli take a break and to dig out food from the wagon. Steve offered some to Strange, but the dragon refused. They didn’t linger; they needed to keep moving. They stopped once more to water her and Bucky took the time to wipe down her flanks and legs, murmuring soft praise to her before driving her again.

 

Near sunset, they reached the meeting of the River Titan and the Narrowood. Natasha, Bruce, and a third man stood on the riverbank.

 

“You took your time,” Natasha remarked. “Who’s that?”

 

“Who is that?” Bucky countered, looking at the man standing at her shoulder; he was dressed as an archer, in dyed leathers that were purple and black. His skin and hair were fair, though rugged and lined.

 

“My mate,” Natasha said simply.

 

“‘Sup,” the man said, lifting a hand. “You can call me Clint.”

 

“Hi?” Steve replied. “You were a hawk?”

 

“I decided to change,” Clint replied. “Who is that, again?”

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Strange. Steve answered first.

 

“A dragon.”

 

“Oh,” Natasha said, her nose wrinkling.

 

“Oh?” Strange questioned, raising his eyebrows. “I see you have not grown courteous in your old age, Natalya.”

 

“Strange,” Natasha grumbled.

 

“Why?” Bruce asked.

 

“No, that’s his name,” Steve said. “Bucky, are we camping here?”

 

“We should keep moving,” Natasha announced, moving now to climb into the wagon. Bruce and Clint followed her. “In fact, we should do away with this camping business and keep on the move until we reach Wakanda. The mountains aren’t far and winter is on its way.”

 

“Patchouli can’t keep going continuously,” Bucky warned.

 

“True,” Natasha said, pausing. She mounted the side of the wagon, then swung over it and settled down on a crate, frowning at the horse. “Unless you wouldn’t mind me enchanting her?”

 

“Enchanting?” Bucky questioned.

 

The horse whinnied.

 

“I don’t think she would mind,” Steve said. “But she’d still need rests now and then, maybe not for a whole night, but at the very least to drink and eat.”

 

Natasha didn’t answer him. She climbed over the back of the cab, then leaned out and pressed her hand to Patchouli’s rump. The horse whinnied again and lashed her tail, stamping her hooves nervously.

 

“She can go on for hours,” Natasha said softly. “She doesn’t even need a whole night to rest as it is. There, now,” she murmured, stroking the horse’s back. “Your energy shouldn’t dip so low now.”

 

“It would be better to release her and allow one of you shapeshifters to take her place,” Strange remarked.

 

Natasha sat back and shot Strange a glare. “This animal is more a member of this party than you are,” she said sternly. “She would sooner follow us than be turned away.”

 

Bucky felt a flash of pride and shot his horse a smile; he knew she was loyal to him.

 

Strange huffed and rolled his eyes. “You and your sentimental attachments,” he grumbled. “I’d never understand it.”

 

“Not everything is material,” Natasha snapped.

 

Strange rolled his eyes again. “Fair folk,” he grumbled. “They call dragons lofty.”

 

Natasha’s eyes glowed. Steve hastily touched her shoulder.

 

“He said he owes a pledge to the king of Yorke,” he said, “me. He’s agreed to help us.”

 

“We don’t need his help,” Natasha retorted.

 

“He’s a dragon!” Steve hissed.

 

Natasha shook off Steve’s shoulder and climbed back into the bed of the wagon. Bucky, uncomfortable at the awkward tension, turned and whistled at Patchouli, snapping her reins.

 

She started in a fast trot that betrayed the spell Natasha had put on her; she had been tired not only a minute ago.

 

“This is tense,” Bruce mumbled.

 

“I think it’s wonderful,” Clint announced. “More or less.”

 

Bucky heard Strange scoff. He leaned in towards Steve then.

 

“Can you make them be quiet?” he hissed.

 

Steve sniggered and shook his head. Bucky sighed and sat up again.

 

“Worth a try,” he grumbled.

 

Bucky tended to prefer solitude and quiet. He would have thought that beings as old as the stones would, too, except Strange and Natasha seemed to like arguing over anything better than lofty silence.

 

Steve and Bruce found their arguing fascinating, however. Bucky gritted his teeth and endured it.

 

With Natasha’s enchantment, Patchouli only needed to rest for a few hours at a time. From then on, Bucky no longer stopped to camp every night. Steve and Bruce were the only ones that needed sleep; well, Bucky did, too, though he didn’t want to. Steve insisted he let someone else drive at night, however, and Bucky relented only because he loved Steve. Clint drove during the night and those who needed to sleep curled up in the bed of the wagon.

 

Winter really was coming early. Within a week, there was freezing rain and a week after brought slush-like snow. By then, they stopped driving and Bucky put together a cover for the wagon; the others helped, except for Strange.

 

“Dragons don’t help without a fee,” Natasha sneered.

 

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Strange answered, sounding almost offended.

 

It was properly snowing not long after that, but that didn’t slow them down. The West Mountains were looming closer and closer every day.

 

“We’ll be in Wakanda in not even a week,” Natasha said.

 

“Wakanda,” Strange grumbled.

 

“Don’t like cats?” Natasha retorted.

 

“Cats?” Steve asked.

 

“The ruling family are all werecats,” Natasha explained.

 

Clint elbowed Bucky. “You’ll fit right in,” he teased.

 

“Great,” Bucky grumbled like Strange.

 

As the snow began to fall in earnest, the entered the West Pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _two seconds and the next chapter will be out_


	16. THE MOUNTAIN PASS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _steve, again, has BDE. but the wakandans have more BDE._

##  _[THE MOUNTAIN PASS]_

  


The West Mountains were treacherous and impassable. There was nothing on the other side of them but the distant Mâra Díerd, the western ocean, so what was the point trying to find safe passage through them? The only mapped passage was the West Pass, but that was less a road than it was a small valley that winded and twisted through the mountains.

 

Now with four extra and unexpected passengers, Bucky took the West Path with no idea of where he was going.

 

“Wakanda’s unfindable,” Bucky pointed out nervously. “That’s kinda the point of it being a mythical city.”

 

“It’s there,” Steve insisted. “We just have to keep going.”

 

“You sure youse guys can’t help out with directions?” Bucky asked Clint.

 

“We haven’t been to Wakanda since they rose the mountains,” Natasha answered instead.

 

Bucky shot her a look. “They rose the mountains?”

 

“To hide the city,” she said simply.

 

Bucky exhaled and turned forward again. Sure. Werecats who could raise mountains at will. What was he expecting?

 

“Sam promised that we’d be able to find our way in,” Steve said. “Wakanda knows all who pass its borders and it allows those it wants to find it.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky grumbled. “Why fuckin’ not?”

 

The pass branched into three forks. Bucky pulled on the reins, pausing as snowflakes drifted down amongst the peaks. The closely packed mountains kept away the worst of the wind and snow, but the occasional flake made its way down.

 

“Which way?” Bucky asked, unsure.

 

Steve took the reins from him and Bucky let them pass through his fingers into his hands without resisting. Steve hummed, then simply dropped the reins and whistled, high and shrill.

 

Patchouli knickered and started on her own; taking the left road. Bucky looked at Steve with raised eyebrows.

 

“She can hear the mountains better than I can,” Steve explained.

 

“But –” Bucky started.

 

“What’s she gonna do?” Steve asked. “Bolt? There’s nowhere to go but forward.”

 

Bucky leaned back, huffing. “Magicians,” he grumbled.

 

Steve chuckled and leaned into his side. Bucky pulled him in and kissed his bear hood.

 

Patchouli walked where she wanted, pulling them along behind her at a steady pace. Bucky trusted his horse; she’d carried him unconscious halfway across the Nordic Holds once before. It wasn’t Patchouli he worried about.

 

What kind of mythical city didn’t have border guards?

 

The mountains were eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the loud forest’s edge and rolling plains they’d left behind. As Patchouli lead them on, Bucky watched the high cliff’s faces and the sloping boulders warily.

 

Distantly, an eagle cried. Bucky twisted to look around, but he couldn’t spot it.

 

The sun was setting. The pass was growing darker by the second and Bucky picked up the reins, pulling on them. He whistled, high and shrill, and it echoed through the sheer faces of rock. Patchouli stopped.

 

“We’ll keep going when it’s light,” Bucky announced.

 

“Fine with me,” Natasha said quietly.

 

“Don’t like stone?” Strange asked.

 

Natasha turned her black gaze on him. “I’m a forest fae,” she said darkly. “I’m only at home among my trees.”

 

Bucky pushed up, jumping down from the wagon. “I’m starting a fire,” he said. “Bruce, can you get out the tents?”

 

Steve followed him, his bear pelt cloak dragging along the dusty ground, as Bucky pulled firewood from the wagon. Bucky took a few steps away from the wagon and set down his pile on the ground, starting to build a structure. Steve walked up by his shoulder and calmly snapped his fingers. The stone under the wood sank into a shallow, round pit. Bucky cast a glance up at Steve and smiled before returning to building the fire.

 

Bruce and Clint took the tents out from the wagon, Natasha following them, but Strange remained under the wagon’s cover.

 

“You coming?” Steve asked the dragon.

 

“I’ll stay here,” Strange said. “I see little need for all this setting up.”

 

“We’re staying the night, we might as well be comfortable,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve nudged him, smiling gently. Bucky rolled his eyes, aware of the irony that he was the one to say that, and carried on with what he was doing. As he pulled dried moss from the pouches on his belt to start the fire, Steve snapped his fingers and lit the end of his index.

 

“Here,” he said, touching it to the moss in Bucky’s hand.

 

Bucky tucked the moss into the wood and encouraged it to light. He glanced up, looking over his shoulder, and saw Natasha and Clint working together to set up the tents; magically, no less. Bruce stood off to the side, pulling crystals and scrolls from his satchel to set up the wards. Bucky looked up at Steve and bumped his hip with his shoulder.

 

“You wanna do your circle?” he offered, drawing his sword

 

“Yeah,” Steve returned. “Bruce? You don’t need to do that.”

 

Steve took Bucky’s sword and stepped past the tents. Bucky pushed to his feet and dusted off his hands, watching as Steve began to draw a line in the dust. Clint and Natasha backed up, nearing the fire, and Bruce put away his crystals to watch Steve as well. Strange crept towards the edge of the wagon, turning as Steve passed him to trace the circle past the wagon.

 

Steve closed the circle and moved back to the fire, handing Bucky back his sword. Bucky sheathed it and stood still while Steve drew herbs from his belt again. Bucky recognized them this time; sage and fir needles. Steve knelt in front of the fire, holding the herbs in front of him.

 

“I cast a circle,” he recited again, “a circle cast, a circle locked, a circle stronghold. I cast a circle and declare it mine until it is broken.”

 

Steve tossed the herbs into the fire and the flames turned black, as before. Natasha and even Strange looked impressed as they watched. Bruce knelt, his eyes wide with wonder.

 

“Everything living and alive and in between shall respect my circle,” Steve recited, “and will not cross it. Until this circle is released, everything living and alive and in between will fuck off because I said so.”

 

The black flames rose to a height and then shrank, returning to their natural color. Bruce clapped.

 

“Marvelous!” he said. “Where did you learn that?”

 

“I made it up,” Steve answered, pushing up off the ground.

 

Bucky beamed proudly.

 

Steve brushed off his hands, yawned, and hooked his arm through Bucky’s elbow to begin dragging him towards their tent. Bucky stumbled and hastily caught his feet up with where the rest of him was being tugged, moving obediently.

 

“Night!” Steve called over his shoulder.

 

Bucky saluted before ducking into the tent. He ignored Clint sniggering outside.

 

Steve dropped onto a bedroll and started tugging off his boots. Bucky tied the tent flaps and flopped down next to him.

 

“Hi,” Bucky said, grinning.

 

Steve looked up at him, expression flat. “No.”

 

Bucky stuck out his lower lip. Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m tired,” he announced. “I want to be cuddled and that’s it.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Worth a try,” he said.

 

He twisted up and started to disrobe similarly to Steve, removing his leather armor and boots to strip down to his shirt. Steve undressed down to his shift, then changed his small-clothes under it. Bucky arranged the furs that had been tossed into their tent and lay down, opening his arms for Steve to lie in.

 

Steve did, tucking himself against Bucky’s body. Bucky hugged him close and nuzzled his nose into his hair.

 

“Love you,” he mumbled.

 

“Love you back,” Steve answered softly.

 

Warmed by the proximity to the fire and the shelter provided by the leather and fur-lined tent, the two of them relaxed into the makeshift nest. Bucky was too wary to sleep properly, however, and while Steve’s breathing slowed and evened, Bucky merely dozed.

 

Thus, he heard the rustling late into the night. Bucky was fully awake in an instant. He held still, listening, and caught the sound of movement. Not footsteps, just the slight brushing of fur against fur.

 

Bucky, assuming that whatever was outside was some sort of animal, pulled away from Steve as quietly but quickly as he could. Then he grabbed his crossbow and quiver and deftly released the tent flaps to slip outside. He loaded his crossbow, standing upright, and aimed around.

 

It was pitch black out, with the only light coming from the distant stars and a sliver of moon. The fire had burned to coals and it was bitterly cold out; especially considering Bucky was in his shirt and smallclothes, with his feet bare. The sheer rock faces on either side were mere black shapes.

 

Bucky stepped farther away from the tent, cautiously aiming around the campsite. He moved around the wagon and other tents and saw nothing.

 

The line Steve had drawn was unbroken, however, which mean the circle was still in place. Just to be safe, Bucky kicked some dirt and pebbles towards the line. The particulates hit the magical barrier and were repelled, bouncing back. Bucky lowered his crossbow, but for a moment, still just stood there, listening.

 

The sound of fur brushing against fur. Bucky jerked his crossbow back up out of habit, spinning around to the north-east; he scanned the cliff face, his eyes sharpening unnaturally.

 

He discerned something of a denser blackness on the cliff face. Bucky narrowed his eyes, focusing more intently, but could only make out a vague shape, pure and rich black as though absorbing all the light around it.

 

Then it moved.

 

Jumping down suddenly from its ledge, a good twenty feet in the air, a massive and solidly black panther hit the ground between the rock wall and the circle cast by Steve at sunset. As though on cue, another panther leapt down from the cliffs, then another, then another, as Bucky jerked and aimed his crossbow at all of them in turn until seven appeared from the shadows in the dead of night. Moving gracefully and slowly, they circled the camp. The first to jump down stopped right in front of Bucky.

 

Given that panthers weren’t really native to mountainous regions, Bucky guessed that he was being faced with the werecats of Wakanda. His inner wolf raised its hackles in response; simply a cat versus dog instinctive aggression.

 

Bucky lowered his crossbow, however. “Hi,” he announced.

 

The panther’s eyes, slit-pupiled and yellow, narrowed at Bucky. It opened its jaws and bared its teeth, a sharp growl exiting its throat.

 

“I’m gonna go get the witch to talk to you,” Bucky said simply. “And some pants. Excuse me.”

 

Bucky turned his back on the panther and started walking back to his tent. He heard a snarl and whipped around reflexively; in time to see the panther launch into the air and plow face-first into Steve’s barrier. It bounced back and hit the ground on its flank, then jumped back up and roared angrily.

 

“Ouch,” Bucky commented, getting his wits back, and turned back around.

 

The other six panthers began to roar and snarl. Natasha and Clint popped up from their meditative states by the fire and Strange peered out from inside the wagon. Bucky ducked into his and Steve’s tent, finding Steve already awake and looking around in confusion.

 

“Werecats,” Bucky said as Steve aimed his frown at him. “You should check it out.”

 

“What?” Steve muttered, shaking his head. “What?”

 

Bucky dropped his quiver and crossbow onto the ground, then paused, considering his options. He shrugged, decided to go with it, and shucked his shirt instead of putting on his trousers. He untied the lacing of his small clothes, tossed it aside, and smoothly transformed into the wolf. Steve rubbed at his eyes as Bucky transformed, looking up only after and blinking at the sight of Bucky.

 

“Really?” Steve sighed. “You wanna face the werecats in werewolf form?”

 

Bucky bared his fangs in a grin. Steve shook his head as a small smile twinged his lips. He pushed up and grabbed his bear cloak, swinging it on and tucking it around his shift. He grabbed his boots and shoved his bare feet into them, then pushed up off the ground, slipping out of the tent. Bucky followed, his muzzle low on the ground.

 

“What’s goin’ on?” Bruce asked in a muffled tone as he pushed up out of his tent. “Steve?”

 

Bucky disregarded Bruce and simply stuck close to Steve’s side. Steve looked around as he straightened up, then shivered and raised his hands, clapping them. The coals rekindled into flame, putting out an immense heat that made Bruce, who was just a few feet away from it, stumbled back from it. Steve then pointed at the pile of firewood Bucky had left out the evening before and lifted seven or eight of the heavy logs from it; shifting his pointing finger, he directed them into the flaming coals. They were quickly engulfed and began to burn.

 

Steve then turned, seemingly satisfied, and rubbed at his eyes again before approaching the gathering of panthers, now all waiting at the head of the path by the edge of the circle. Bucky, his vision altered by his wolf form, could tell that they were all very pissed.

 

“‘Lo?” Steve mumbled, stopping just before the edge of the circle.

 

The panthers all growled in unison. Bucky edged closer to the line of the circle and a little bit in front of Steve, baring his teeth in answer.

 

“Uh,” Steve responded. “No, I’m not going to take down the circle. That would be a dumb move on my part.”

 

The panthers cut off their growl. They looked at each other, their ears perking. The closest took a step forward, looking straight at Steve, and made a soft, chirping noise.

 

“Yeah?” Steve replied. “But I’m the only one, I think.”

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder and Bucky did, too. Natasha now approached, her bare feet not really making an impact on the dirt. Her eyes glowed slightly red against her black scleras, her skin luminously pale in the low light.

 

“I can understand them,” she said simply. “These are the Dora Milaje; am I correct?”

 

The closest panther narrowed its eyes. It rumbled low in its throat, then stepped backwards. The others copied it, their stances wary, as the first lashed its tail as though warning them to make room. Then, it pushed its forepaws off the ground and rose onto its hind legs. As it stood up, its form shimmered and shrank. By the time it stood upright, the panther’s form had become that of a strong, tall woman, dark-skinned and bald with geometric tattoos covering her head. Unlike Bucky’s transformation, when her animal form shrank, she appeared clothed; wearing intricate vibrant red leather armor with pauldrons, bracers, and a neck cuff made of gold. She raised a small silver cylinder, then squeezed it and it expanded suddenly into a solid metal spear. She swung it out and slammed the butt into the ground; Bucky caught the thin shiver of vibration it caused, but the sound traveled quickly and faded. A signal of some kind, Bucky guessed.

 

“You are correct,” the woman told Natasha in a short, clipped accent.

 

“The elite guards of Wakanda,” Natasha continued. “Blessed by the goddess Bast to take the form of a cat. Well met.”

 

Natasha lifted her arms and crossed them before her chest, touching her fingertips to her shoulders, she bowed her head.

 

“We do not permit outsiders within our bounds,” the Dora Milaje said sharply. “Nor do we permit outsiders to use our salutes.”

 

“I have been a guest in your temples before,” Natasha answered, totally calm.

 

“That does not excuse your presence here,” the Dora Milaje retorted.

 

“Sam Wilson told me to come,” Steve spoke up. “He’s a refugee from Thanos’s tyranny; I am, too.”

 

The Dora Milaje turned her dark eyes on Steve. She was silent for a moment, then her eyes just narrowed. Bucky bared his teeth again and growled deeply.

 

“You would not have gotten this far if you did not know we were really here,” the Dora Milaje said quietly at last.

 

“Sam said that Wakanda was opening its borders to everyone escaping Thanos,” Steve insisted. “Thanos has been trying to kill me since the end of summer.”

 

“The King of Wakanda offered to accept any child of the people of Heliopolita into our borders,” the Dora Milaje told Steve bluntly. “That is to say, the Negros and Betas across Cadör.”

 

“Oh,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky looked up at his mate, worried by the sudden feeling of despair in the bond between them. He whined softly and nudged against Steve’s legs.

 

“Do you plan to do anything about Thanos?” Steve asked then.

 

The Dora Milaje blinked slowly, then raised a single eyebrow. “The affairs of Wakanda are not your concern,” she answered flatly.

 

“Thanos wrongfully claimed the lands of Yorke,” Steve declared firmly. “I am the only living heir to the throne of Yorke.”

 

The Dora Milaje simply looked stone-faced at Steve. Then she pursed her lips and lifted her eyebrow a little farther.

 

“And I am the daughter of Bast,” she said. “You still have no right to enter the lands of Wakanda.”

 

“I’m not lying,” Steve countered. “The Morrígan chose me to lead the revolution against the Fist of Cretus and Thanos has been trying to kill me for months.”

 

The Dora Milaje sighed heavily.

 

“I’m Steven,” Steve added, a tone of desperation entering his voice, “the son of Sarah.”

 

The Dora Milaje’s face went suddenly blank. She blinked once, then tipped her head back and announced a few words with the panthers behind her in a foreign language. Bucky looked up at Steve, then back to the Dora Milaje and the werecats. The other six werecats lifted onto their hind legs and transformed; all dark-skinned women with shaved heads and the same red leather armor. They all brought out the solid silver spears held by the first Dora Milaje, but didn’t slam them against the ground the way the first did.

 

Their leader delivered a few more words in the foreign language, all while still watching Steve, and three of the other six Dora Milaje turned on their heels and began to run up the path. Bucky watched them, but as they shrank into the distance, they were suddenly swallowed by the darkness; or some sort of illusion. Bucky edged closer to Steve and let out a low growl.

 

_“I don’t like this.”_

 

“Shush,” Steve said, setting his hand on Bucky’s head. “You’re just pissy because they’re cats.”

 

Bucky jerked his gaze up and huffed. Steve rolled his eyes. The Dora Milaje leader cleared her throat.

 

“Please remove your ward.”

 

Bucky again growled deeply. _“Bad idea.”_

 

“I really would rather not,” Steve told the Dora. “We can’t cross it either, if that helps.”

 

“I’m afraid I cannot take your word for it,” the Dora said.

 

Steve shrugged, then swept his leg around and knocked it into Bucky’s hind legs. Bucky yelped in surprise and stumbled forward, immediately colliding with the barrier and falling back. He jumped back up and ran right into Steve’s legs, just knocking into him. Steve laughed and caught his fur to keep himself upright and Bucky jumped up to lick his face.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist!” Steve laughed again. “You’re not hurt, anyway.”

 

 _“Still,”_ Bucky huffed.

 

He started licking Steve’s hands and Steve chuckled before dropping to his knees to allow Bucky to press against his face and neck. Bucky was satisfied and licked Steve’s cheek.

 

“Fine,” the Dora said in an exasperated tone. “Then I ask all members of your party to identify themselves.”

 

“This is my Alpha,” Steve offered, stroking through Bucky’s fur. “Werewolf, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” the Dora drawled.

 

“That’s my aunt,” Steve continued, twisting to point at Natasha. “Well, great-great-great aunt. She’ll vouch that I’m the heir to the throne of Yorke.”

 

“Will you?” the Dora asked, turning her gaze on Natasha. “And who will vouch for you?”

 

“Myself,” Natasha replied. “I am the Queen of the Unseelie Court.”

 

Bucky started a little. He hadn’t realized that Natasha really _was_ a Faerie Queen.

 

“And no one with an ounce of self-preservation would attempt to claim that title unless they really were,” Natasha added.

 

“No,” the Dora agreed, sounding somehow irritated. “I gather you also be the king of the Seelie Court, Steven, son of Sarah?”

 

“No?” Steve said, frowning. He glanced back at Natasha. “Will I?”

 

“Of course not,” Natasha scoffed. “My sister had many full-blooded fae children, all of which battled in ritual combat to take the throne of the Seelie Court when she stepped down to be with her human lover. We wouldn’t leave our courts without a ruler for five minutes let alone over one hundred years.”

 

Steve gestured to Natasha. Bucky licked his nose, flicking an ear.

 

“Gross,” Steve mumbled, hugging him a little.

 

Bucky butted his snout against Steve’s neck and Steve shoved him back, chuckling again.

 

“The others?” the Dora demanded, definitely becoming irate now.

 

“My uncle,” Steve said, pointing to Clint. “Great-great-great, I mean. And the mouthpiece of the Morrígan –”

 

“Can that not be my title?” Bruce asked quickly. “I am actually a highly skilled healer.”

 

“No,” Natasha said flatly.

 

“And that’s Doctor Strange,” Steve concluded, twisting to point to him. “He’s the last dragon in Cadör.”

 

“Naturally,” the Dora replied, sounding as if she didn’t believe a word of what they were saying.

 

Bucky turned on her and growled again. She finally deigned to look at him and simply raised an eyebrow.

 

“Are you going to talk to us or let us in or what?” Steve asked.

 

The Dora looked at Steve again. She hummed softly, considering.

 

“We shall see,” she said ominously. “You will wait inside your barrier. If you attempt to leave it, my Dora will kill you.”

 

Bucky snarled in answer, lunging just a little in the Dora’s direction as he bared his fangs and growled. She didn’t even seem to notice him.

 

“Fine,” Steve answered. “I’m still not removing it until you promise you’re allies.”

 

The Dora lifted her eyebrows. “A wise decision,” she said flatly, then turned away, swinging her spear to strike the ground again; and again, it sent a small shiver of sound out, to someone who Bucky guessed had to be listening.

 

There was sunlight staining the mountain tops to the east, by then. Bucky nudged Steve until he got up and walked away from the edge of the circle, back to the fire pit where he sank to the ground. Bucky sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder, and Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s body, curling his fingers into his fur. Bucky nuzzled his hair.

 

The others gathered around, as well. Strange sat down in mid-air and crossed his legs, setting his hands upon his knees. Natasha calmly sat on the dirt and Clint joined her. Bruce rubbed at his face and dropped down much more heavily, sending a small cloud of dust up.

 

“So,” Bruce started, “we’re not welcome in Wakanda?”

 

“No,” Steve answered, turning his face out of Bucky’s fur. “But maybe they will help us.”

 

Strange huffed. “Wakanda’s policies have been to hold their borders for the past several thousand years. There’s a reason your people believe it is no more than a myth.”

 

“But they’re letting in refugees now,” Steve insisted. “The King must have compassion for those under Thanos’s rule.”

 

Natasha hummed softly. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “We do not know his reasons.”

 

“Wait a second,” Bruce spoke up. He leaned forward and glanced between Steve and Natasha. “What are we waiting for now?”

 

Natasha shrugged. “The Dora Milaje to tell us to leave or let us in.”

 

Steve shrugged, too.

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder to where the four remaining Dora Milaje stood at the ready at the head of the path. Two were facing them, two were facing the other direction.

 

 _“They’re waiting for something,”_ Bucky told Steve quietly.

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder as well, then turned back and focused on the flames. “We’ll just have to wait,” he answered.

 

Bucky twisted his head around again, then rested his muzzle on Steve’s crown; the bear’s head covering his hair. He just kept his eyes on the Dora Milaje, keeping watch.

 

The sun lifted higher, perhaps twenty minutes passing. The pass was slowly illuminated, revealing a dense fog ahead of the Dora Milaje. Bucky never trusted fog, especially how this fog was conveniently obscuring the rest of the pass.

 

At last, the three Dora Milaje that had left earlier re-appeared out of the fog. But this time, with them was a figure clad solely in black. As they approached, the Dora stepped to the side and the figure in black moved to the front of the group. The Dora Milaje’s leader submitted to them, bowing her head and stepping back. Bucky nudged Steve and Steve turned to look, then got up. Bucky went with him.

 

He and the figure in black approached the edge of the barrier at the same time. Natasha and Strange followed them, falling into step just behind Steve and Bucky. The newcomer was wearing leather armor and a helmet that covered their whole head, molded to appear cat-like. Bucky growled softly, wondering what was with the Wakandans and cats.

 

“Hello?” Steve said.

 

The newcomer tipped their head to the side, just looking at him. Bucky flattened his ears and growled again, baring his teeth. The newcomer ignored him.

 

“You are the son of Sarah?”

 

Through the mask, their voice was accented as the Dora’s was, but masculine. Given the breadth and height of their body, Bucky could guess that they were male; either that or an Orc.

 

“Yes,” Steve said.

 

“The incubus Thanos has been trying to eliminate?”

 

“I’m not an incubus!” Steve snapped. “I’m a witch!”

 

The newcomer tipped his head to the other side, evaluating. The Dora Milaje leader said something in the foreign language and the newcomer hummed softly.

 

Then he straightened his head and his helmet suddenly shivered. The material shimmered and became translucent, then receded. It revealed the man’s face; his features were pensive, his lips pressed together and his eyes curious.

 

“I am T’Challa, son of T’Chaka,” the man declared, “the King of Wakanda. My father was killed by an agent of Thanos who invaded our borders.”

 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Steve recited. “Your soldiers told you that I’m the heir to the throne of Yorke?”

 

“Or so you claim,” T’Challa countered.

 

“She’s the Queen of the Unseelie Court,” Steve said flatly, pointing to Natasha. “My great-aunt. Her sister gave up the throne of the Seelie Court and her immortality because she fell in love with the last king of Yorke, but the Red Skull killed him and all his children. They missed her.”

 

“What business do you have in Wakanda, son of Sarah?” T’Challa asked in return.

 

“At first, I wanted asylum,” Steve said. “Thanos sent an assassin to kill me several months ago, the White Wolf.”

 

Bucky lifted his ears and bared his teeth again, warningly.

 

“But Thanos didn’t know that the White Wolf wasn’t an ally to the Cretan Empire,” Steve continued. “This is him –” he touched Bucky’s head. “Instead of killing me, he helped me escape. In Hel’s Kitchen, we met a monk of the Morrígan who said that she and the Old Gods wanted to liberate Yorke and they wanted me to do it.”

 

“So why continue to Wakanda?” T’Challa asked. He leaned his head to the side again, his eyes taking Steve in with curiosity. “There is a revolt in Titan already. Why not go to them?”

 

Steve gave pause. Bucky looked up at him, expectant. Strange and Natasha looked in his direction, too, both of them frowning.

 

“A year ago,” Steve began, “the Wilson family left Brooklyn to escape the Cretans. I got a message from Sam, one of the boys, a few months later saying that they’d come to Wakanda and found safety. They’re my family.”

 

T’Challa lifted his head, inhaling deeply. Slowly, he nodded.

 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he echoed Steve. “But the friend of my friend is, too.”

 

Steve brightened in a smile. “You know the Wilsons? Sam Wilson?”

 

“I do,” T’Challa answered. “Sam has become one of my most devote soldiers and one of my closest friends. He has mentioned his little brother Stevie before. I did not realize that the Stevie he spoke of and the Steven, son of Sarah, were one and the same.”

 

“Are they alright?” Steve asked, his hand fisting in Bucky’s scruff. “All the girls, the boys? Ma and Pa?”

 

“They are fine,” T’Challa assured him. He raised his hands. “Why don’t you release your shield and come with me? You may see for yourself.”

 

Steve beamed, grinning like sunshine itself. “Yeah!” he said excitedly. “Hang on.”

 

He knelt and reached for the line that made the shield. Bucky jerked forward and stopped him quickly, grabbing the sleeve of the cloak and tugging him back.

 

 _“I don’t trust them,”_ he growled.

 

Steve hesitated. He glanced up at T’Challa, then back to Bucky. He pushed both hands into Bucky’s fur and pressed their foreheads together.

 

“We have to,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky flicked his gaze over, then whined softly. Steve scratched his nails into Bucky’s skin beneath his fur, then looked away and reached down with a hand. He pressed a single finger to the earth and pushed it through the line holding the shield.

 

T’Challa stretched out his hand and found nothing in his way. He smiled, then lowered his hand to Steve. Bucky flattened his ears and growled menacingly, then snarled when T’Challa simply ignored him. T’Challa finally looked at him, then withdrew his hand.

 

“Your guard dog does not like me,” he remarked.

 

“I think he’s just stressed,” Steve said, pushing up off his knees. “Do you want to change?”

 

Bucky flicked an ear. He snorted, then twisted and pressed his nose into Steve’s cloak, sniffing out his skin. Steve turned his palms out and Bucky licked over them, nuzzling his cloak as well.

 

“We’re mates,” Steve added. “But it hasn’t been long and it hasn’t been easy.”

 

“I see,” T’Challa answered. “Please, strike your camp and come with us. It is not far.”

 

Bucky moved around Steve and started pushing him back towards their tent. Steve shot a nod in T’Challa’s direction and let Bucky herd him to the tent, wrapping into his cloak more. Bucky waited for him to go in first, then entered behind him, transforming back into a man as soon as the tent flaps were shut.

 

“C’mere,” Bucky said, falling into the makeshift nest and holding out his arms.

 

Steve slipped off the cloak and crawled to join Bucky. Bucky rubbed his nose into Steve’s hair, settling anxiety inside him, then cautiously pushed his hands under Steve’s shift.

 

“My family are waiting,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Jus’ gimme a second,” Bucky muttered.

 

With his flesh and blood hand, Bucky traced Steve’s prominent bones. He pressed his scent into the dips of Steve’s hip bones. Marked his spine, his ribs. Bucky rolled them over and nudged his nose along Steve’s jaw. Steve let out the softest sigh and tipped his head back. Bucky kissed the corner of his jaw, then nuzzled his face down the perfect, pale column of his neck. He pressed his lips to the still bright scar over Steve’s mating gland, once, twice, finishing by nudging his nose against it.

 

“Better?” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky nodded. He pushed up and pressed his lips to Steve’s, then lifted off of him and stood. Steve sat up, pulled his legs to his chest, and rested his cheek against a knee as Bucky started to pick up his clothes and dress himself.

 

“Are we really going to fight Thanos?”

 

Bucky paused, halfway in doing up his trousers. Steve was staring at Bucky’s feet, his expression a little lost. Bucky fastened his pants and knelt down again, reaching up to cup Steve’s face.

 

“We don’t have to,” he said softly. “You don’t have to. We can ask if we can be given asylum, and if not, I’ll get us into Dinaea and onto a ship.”

 

Steve looked up, eyes wide.

 

“There are other lands beyond Cadör,” Bucky reminded him. “We could flee. Start a new life somewhere.”

 

Steve dropped his gaze. Bucky brushed his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. It was getting long, passing his ears. Bucky brushed it back all the way, sweeping it away from his face and back.

 

“We could,” Bucky offered. “You say the word, and we’ll run away. But that’s not you, I bet.”

 

Steve shook his head. “I guess – I don’t know what I’m asking.”

 

Bucky smiled a little and wrinkled his nose. “I think you do.”

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Are you really doing this with me?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said easily. “‘Course I am. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, punk.”

 

Steve let out a sigh and nodded. Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and pressed it against his own mating scar.

 

“I mean this,” Bucky reminded him. “Okay?”

 

Steve nodded. He cupped the back of Bucky’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was short but conveyed everything needed.

 

“C’mon,” Steve said as they separated. “Let’s get going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _how are we nearly at the end???? this took me ages to write and i can't wait for y'all to get to the end_


	17. THE ALPHA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _for no reason other than i wanted to, we're switching POV to sam. overprotective best friend mode activate._

##  _[THE ALPHA]_

  


Wakanda was the land of perpetual summer. The city streets were not cobblestone or dirt, no, they were paved with obsidian glass. There were hospitals where illnesses that would have been a guarantee of death in the old world were cured as easily as a nosebleed. Hunger was no issue; there was food plenty for everyone no matter their class or status.

 

Before coming, Sam’s little sister Temperance had been sick all the time. They had kept her home, away from everyone, because the other people in Brooklyn feared she carried a demon. But coming to Wakanda, their doctors told them that she just suffered a combination of anemia and autism. The home that they left behind didn’t even know what those things were! Wakanda was a land of not just magic and miracles, but science, technology that blended both to make dreams reality.

 

The journey took four months, nearly five, and by then, Sam and his family had been settled in Wakanda for just as long. Living there, Sam could think of the people they left behind. Mainly, Steve.

 

The Cretans had been getting more and more hostile towards the Betas living in Brooklyn. Sam’s father and many of his brothers had been miners, employed by the Cretan Empire itself. The last straw had been when his older brother Isaiah got trapped in a mine collapse and the Cretan officials simply let him die. Wasn’t worth the effort to dig him out. Not that it would have been exhaustive in manpower or risk. It just wasn’t cost-efficient to take the time to do it.

 

Cost efficient. Isaiah died behind maybe thirty feet of dirt and rubble while the rest of the miners just carried on with their jobs.

 

Sam’s own father and brothers were prevented in trying to help Isaiah. They were threatened with ramifications in their job and pay if they tried. At that point, they’d already heard of refugees leaving for the mythical city of Wakanda, with the thought that even if they found nothing there, it would be better than where they started.

 

The day they lost Isaiah, Sam’s family started the process of becoming refugees. They ran away. They joined a caravan of several other families escaping Brooklyn and just ran away.

 

Sam had wanted to take Steve with them. He knew that the Cretan prejudices that killed Isaiah would target his friend as well. But his parents were afraid for his other siblings and the group they joined didn’t want to take an Omega with them. Wakanda was a refuge for Betas. Steve didn’t fit.

 

But the longer they were away, the more Sam had felt guilty that they’d left Steve behind. He feared the same progressions that his parents had, the fact that Steve was alone, that he lived in a fucking brothel. Before they left, Sam had stepped in to help Steve get away from creeps a thousand times, snuck him out and back to his family’s home, tried to get him out so many times. He was still just a kid himself, his parents told him they had to run and he ran.

 

Living in Wakanda was so much easier. His brothers all got jobs, his sisters even could take jobs where the Cretans prevented them from working in Brooklyn. His pa was able to retire and stayed home with the kids and Ma, something that none of them had ever thought would happen. Sam had even joined Wakanda’s military and become friends with the Royal Family. T’Challa and Shuri felt like his own flesh and blood, the Dowager Queen doted on him and kept reminding him to eat full meals.

 

Sam never could shake the feeling that he’d made a mistake in leaving Steve behind. Early into their new life in Wakanda, he caught a raven and told it to find Steve back in Yorke and tell him to come to Wakanda, but he would never know if it worked. It had been almost six months since then.

 

Outside, it would have been nearing winter. Samhain was only a few days away and there were enough refugees from the Yorkeish and Nordic areas that a celebration had been planned. Sam was in Shuri’s lab, just keeping her company while she waited for some experiment to progress and telling her about the holiday.

 

“The veil between the living and the dead becomes thin,” he said. “We can contact our loved ones, or be contacted. We leave offerings outside our doors so that the spirits of the dead that pass are happy and don’t attack us.”

 

“Why would they attack?” Shuri asked, kicking her feet through the air. “Aren’t they your family?”

 

“Not always,” Sam answered. “Sometimes the spirits are angry or aren’t even human. Sometimes fair folk come and try to use the opportunity to steal from us.”

 

“You mean fae?” Shuri said, tipping her head to the side.

 

“Well, we don’t say it ‘cause they might hear,” Sam replied, “and they might come after us.”

 

“Fae don’t really care about humans, you know that, right?”

 

Sam shrugged. “That’s what our superstition says,” he explained. “I guess it’s pretty xenophobic.”

 

“Very,” Shuri laughed.

 

Then, the door to the lab opened and Nakia entered. Sam sat up, smiling in greeting, and Shuri waved.

 

“Have you come to see my potion?” she asked.

 

“I wish I could,” Nakia answered. “But I’m here to fetch your test subject.”

 

“Wait, wait, test subject?” Sam burst out, then held out a hand to Shuri. “Were you gonna feed me that stuff?”

 

“It’s completely harmless!” Shuri insisted.

 

“Sis,” Sam countered.

 

Shuri started laughing and Nakia rolled her eyes, walking up. “T’Challa wants you,” she said. “I think we’re going to discuss going after Thanos.”

 

Sam stood up immediately, sobered. “Right,” he said, his jaw tightening. “Lead the way.”

 

“Should I come?” Shuri asked.

 

Nakia shrugged. “If you like,” she replied. “But don’t leave your potion unattended.”

 

Shuri took out her wand and waved it towards the bubbling and complicated lab set up in the center of the room. Dust swirled upward in a spiral, forming a figure.

 

“Keep an eye on that and come get me if anything changes,” she ordered and the dust figure saluted.

 

Shuri tucked her wand away and gave Nakia and Sam a smile. Sam rolled his eyes and Nakia turned and left.

 

Shuri’s lab was in the dungeons (ironically, Sam always thought sarcastically), and Nakia led them up towards the first floor. Going through the halls, they walked to the rear, private kitchens, where the Queen Mother frequently held informal meals. (Read, drags Shuri out of the basement and T’Challa from the throne room to shove home-cooked meals down their throats. Sam was sometimes treated to this unique affection, too. Queen Ramonda reminded him quite a lot of his own mother.)

 

“What prompted the sudden change?” Sam asked Nakia.

 

“A group of people showed up at the border,” she said. “A werewolf, a witch, a monk, the Unseelie Queen and her consort, and a dragon.”

 

“What?” Sam spluttered. “A _dragon?_ ”

 

Nakia raised her eyebrows at Sam. “I would think T’Challa was playing a joke on us, but the war with Thanos is not something he would joke about.”

 

Sam shook his head, bemused. “Dragon,” he muttered. “What in the nine hells…”

 

Dragons and an Unseelie queen and a –

 

“Did you say witch?” Sam blurted just outside the kitchen doors.

 

“Yes, witch,” Nakia said, pushing the doors open. “Ask yourself.”

 

Inside were the people Sam expected and five more. T’Challa stood at the head of the table, his mother on his left and an empty chair on the right for Shuri. Erik, T’Challa’s cousin who had arrived in Wakanda from the outside barely a week before Sam and his family arrived, stood at the corner of the table between T’Challa and Shuri’s empty seat. Okoye was standing, as she usually preferred to do, just behind T’Challa’s chair and her intended leaned against a counter nearby. There were three Dora Milaje stationed in the kitchen at the doorways, and Ramonda held a child in her lap that Sam didn’t recognize; probably one of the Dora’s children.

 

T’Challa was talking as they entered. The five newcomers were standing at the end of the table. Sam saw first the tallest and largest of the group; a dark-haired man dressed in ranger’s clothes, arms crossed over his chest and a determined scowl etched into his features. Surprisingly, he looked familiarly Yorkeish to Sam, like he might have lived and worked in Brooklyn alongside him. At the same time, Sam didn’t like the look of him. He looked like he had seen battle and the battle had regretted it.

 

Second, he saw the only woman in the group, a pale and bright red-haired woman of eerily indeterminable age. She looked up as Nakia pushed the door open and Sam saw that her eyes were completely black with red pupils; the Unseelie queen, he guessed. Another black-eyed man stood next to her, this one more rugged and blonde and dressed in purple archer’s leathers.

 

Beside them was a tall man with a fluttering red cloak, coiffed hair, and a trim goatee. His eyes were an unsettling shade of glowing orange, with slit pupils like a snake’s. He, like the Yorkeish man, looked like he didn’t particularly enjoy being there. Only the man in monk’s robes looked as though he were enjoying himself.

 

The sixth in the group had their back to Sam, and besides that, they were wearing a very long robe made of seamless black fur, complete with a hood. They were quite short, shorter even than the Unseelie woman, and coming up only to the chest of the Yorkeish man, who stood just behind them. That was all Sam could tell from the back of them.

 

“Ah,” T’Challa interrupted himself. “He’s here.”

 

Sam blinked, startled. “Me?”

 

“Is there another _he_ that just entered?” Okoye retorted in a short quip.

 

The robed figure turned around. Sam realized that their hood was actually the head of a bear and the robe was its skin, the sleeves made out of its own arms. He recoiled a little, until the person pushed the hood back and revealed their face.

 

“Steve!” Sam shouted in a gasp.

 

“Sam!” Steve answered, breaking into a grin.

 

Sam, naturally, bolted forward and scooped Steve up into a bear hug. (Pardon the pun.) He laughed and squeezed Steve for all he was worth and Steve laughed as well, his arms thrown around Sam’s neck.

 

“I thought I’d never see you again, you little tart!” Sam cried. “How the hell did you get here?”

 

“I took the road!” Steve laughed again.

 

Sam dropped him, grabbing his shoulders instead to shake them. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” he admitted.

 

Steve beamed. “Feeling’s mutual, pal.”

 

“Wait,” Sam added, realization dawning, “the witch! You’re the witch!”

 

Steve shrugged, nodding. “I had a change of heart about magic.”

 

He raised a hand, snapping his fingers. A small puff of flame appeared in his palm and danced high; before Sam’s eyes, it turned blue, green, bright red, even purple. Then Steve closed his fist and it snuffed out.

 

“Wow,” Sam muttered. “You couldn’t even make a spark when I last saw you!”

 

“Practice,” Steve said with a grin.

 

“How in the Nine Hells did you actually get out of Cretus?” Sam demanded, then looked up at the others Steve had around him. “Who are these people?!”

 

The foreboding Yorkeish man set his hand on Steve’s shoulders. Sam then made the mistake of looking at his face. He was staring Sam right in the eye, his nearly colorless eyes stormy with some unreadable, innate malice. Sam swallowed nothing, stepping back.

 

Steve turned to look at the dark man with a grin, however, touching his hand to the man’s upper arm. “He actually got me out of Brooklyn,” he explained. “Sam, this is Bucky, my mate.”

 

Sam jerked his gaze to Steve’s, his jaw dropping. Steve just grinned, looking completely serious. Sam glanced at _Bucky_ again, then grabbed Steve’s arm and tugged him back, away from Bucky.

 

“He looks like an axe murderer!” Sam hissed.

 

Steve shoved him off. “Cut it out, no, he doesn’t.”

 

“I probably do,” Bucky spoke, his voice completely deadpan. “Probably because I am.”

 

Sam gulped. Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“Stop being scary,” he insisted. “Bucky, this is Sam Wilson, he’s my best friend.”

 

Bucky nodded briefly. “Morning,” he said shortly.

 

Sam lifted a wary hand in a wave. Bucky’s face was stony. Steve looked pleased, though.

 

“This is my great-great-great aunt, Natasha,” he continued, as though the stare down between Sam and Bucky wasn’t happening.

 

Steve pointed to the Unseelie queen and Sam jolted to gawk at her instead.

 

“You really are faekind?” he asked in bewilderment.

 

“Yep,” Steve said. “That’s Clint, her mate.”

 

Clint, the fae man, waved. Sam waved back.

 

“This is Bruce,” Steve continued, pointing to the monk. “He found us in Hel’s Kitchen, he serves the Morrígan.”

 

Bruce waved as well.

 

“And that’s Doctor Strange,” Steve concluded, pointing to the orange-eyed man. “He’s a dragon.”

 

“Right,” Sam muttered.

 

“A lot of things happened since you left,” Steve said, turning his smile back on Sam. “How’s everyone else? Your sisters, your brothers?”

 

Sam dropped Steve’s gaze. “They’re all alright,” he said at first. “But – Isaiah…”

 

Steve frowned. Sam sighed. They hadn’t had time to tell Steve what had happened.

 

“He died in the mines,” Sam admitted. “He was caught in a tunnel collapse and the Cretans running the mine refused to spend the time and effort to rescue him.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Steve gasped. “That’s murder!”

 

Sam nodded, serious. “It’s why we decided to leave when we did. My mother didn’t want any of the rest of us to be buried alive like Isaiah was.”

 

Steve stepped in and hugged Sam again, his arms wrapping around Sam’s neck. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

 

Sam hugged Steve back, letting his face tuck against the side of Steve’s neck. Steve’s scent had always reminded Sam of his grandmother, who had inexplicably been the only Omega in their family. Sam breathed in Steve’s scent, taking in the warm sweetness of him and letting his thoughts be calmed.

 

But breathing in, Sam could tell that something really had changed since he’d last seen his best friend. There was the expected scent of an Alpha on him, the axe-murderer Bucky, but Sam would’ve thought that he could sort through the smell and pick out Steve’s pure scent underneath it.

 

He couldn’t.

 

When Steve pulled back, Sam was confused. His friend had a metallic undercurrent to his scent now that was almost repulsive. The Alpha scent was definitely off-putting, making Sam want to keep his distance the way it ought to, but that undercurrent? Sam didn’t understand it.

 

“What happened to you?” Sam just blurted. “You – You smell different?”

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, his cheeks pinking. Sam looked at him as well, still confused. Steve backed up and Bucky lifted his arm to wrap it around Steve’s shoulders. Steve turned his gaze back on Sam, but he was almost bashful.

 

“We bonded,” he murmured.

 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. Oh, wow. Okay.”

 

The axe-murderer Alpha didn’t lose his stony expression. Sam flicked his gaze to Bucky, once again concerned.

 

“Okay,” he repeated warily. “Why?”

 

“We wanted to,” Steve answered, leaning into Bucky more. He was smiling, which might reassure Sam, if he didn’t know that Steve was incredibly trusting.

 

“Congratulations,” Sam said blandly.

 

He didn’t trust this Alpha. Bucky didn’t look like he really cared if Sam trusted him or not.

 

To the right of them, T’Challa cleared his throat. Sam glanced over, distracted, and T’Challa waved them all closer.

 

“I summoned you all here to discuss the rising threat from Thanos,” he announced.

 

“Right,” Sam said, glancing once more to Steve and his Alpha. “Please, let’s.”

 

Steve and his silent companions took seats at the end of the table. Steve held his Alpha’s hand over the table, their chairs pushed close together. Sam sat across from them, taking the seat next to Erik’s. Erik and Shuri sat, too, while Nakia joined Okoye behind T’Challa’s chair. T’Challa was the last to sit; Wakandan custom, the highest ranking would wait for those of lower ranks to take their seats first.

 

“To be brief,” T’Challa began, “Thanos has been attempting to infiltrate our borders since he began his campaign of conquering across Cadör.”

 

Sam held his tongue, but adopted the tense attitude filling the kitchen. Erik was silent, something particularly uncharacteristic of him, as was Shuri. Ramonda had lost the smile she’d had on her face when talking to the child in her lap. Even the little boy looked sober.

 

“Steven,” T’Challa said, looking directly at him; Sam changed his gaze to Steve’s, watching him as T’Challa addressed him. “Our people at first attempted to maintain our isolation from the rest of Cadör when Thanos rose to power. Wakanda is a bridge to the continent of Heliopolita, where we are from, and that is why we first created the mountains, to hide ourselves from the rest of Cadör.”

 

“It’s understandable,” Steve answered.

 

“We did keep some connections to the outside world,” T’Challa carried on. “My own uncle served as an agent to the outside, so we were aware of what was happening in Dinaea and Cretus and Yorke and the Nordic lands. My cousin –” T’Challa lifted his hand to indicate Erik, who said not a word, “– was born in the outside, his mother was a woman of Yorke.”

 

Steve glanced to Erik, who lifted just a finger. All of Wakanda knew blatantly that Erik was once an outsider, it was no secret. Erik was an Omega, after all.

 

“When Thanos first took control of Cretus,” T’Challa continued, “my father, the King, called all of our people back, but my uncle, at first, refused. He wished to stay with his wife and son. My father went to bring him home personally, but on the journey back, Thanos attacked. Erik was the only survivor.”

 

“I would love to see Thanos gets some payback,” Erik spoke up.

 

T’Challa gave a nod, his gaze dropping back to the table. “When I took the throne,” he continued again, “I decided to open the borders to all descendants of Heliopolita, all of Bast’s children, and over the years, many have come to us, chased by Thanos and the Fist of Cretus. Overtime, I have heard many horror stories from those who seek asylum in our city.”

 

T’Challa looked up again, kindness and sincerity in his eyes. Steve looked almost hopeful.

 

“We heard when Thanos decreed all male Omegas and female Alphas the work of demons,” he said. “I did not understand at the time why Thanos would do such a thing, nor why he would single out you in particular.”

 

“Wait, what?” Sam piped up, jerking his gaze back to Steve. “Thanos did what now?”

 

“He’s been trying to kill me for months,” Steve answered, then gestured to T’Challa. “That decree was to find me.”

 

“Thanos has been hunting Steven, the son of Sarah, for a long time,” T’Challa agreed. “I did not understand why until now.”

 

Sam glanced back to Steve, frowning. “Why?” he asked simply.

 

Steve raised his hands and snapped his fingers, creating flames at the tip of his index. “Because of this,” he said. “Because I’m the last witch in Yorke.”

 

“Witches have always been the ones to lead revolutions and revolts,” Bruce added. “The Morrígan indicated to me that this precedent would continue in Steven.”

 

“There is also the fact that my sister was the last King of Yorke’s secret lover,” Natasha continued. “So Steven is his only heir.”

 

“Really?” Sam questioned.

 

Steve shrugged. “Apparently.”

 

“All of this makes you a great threat to Thanos,” T’Challa said with finality. “In coming here, you have both ensured your safety and our doom.”

 

Steve sat straighter, jerking to look at T’Challa with wide eyes. T’Challa just nodded.

 

“Thanos will know that you are here,” he said. “And he will stop at nothing to get to you.”

 

“He’ll have to go through me first,” Bucky growled abruptly.

 

Steve glanced to him and just squeezed his hand. Sam eyed Bucky again, still wary of him. This protectiveness was a good sign, sure, but the bond… Sam still didn’t like that.

 

“I don’t know where else we can go,” Steve replied.

 

“No, of course not,” T’Challa agreed. “Which is why I allowed you to enter Wakanda. You shall lead the revolution against Thanos.”

 

He said it very matter-of-factly. Sam blinked. Steve didn’t look surprised, though.

 

“The Morrígan said as much,” he said. “Our gods want Yorke restored; they’re putting all their faith in me.”

 

“Bast has told me that we must fight Thanos,” T’Challa agreed. “So, you shall lead the revolution, and we shall lend you our forces.”

 

“‘Bout damn time!” Erik exclaimed, jumping up. “When do we leave?”

 

“We will let our guests rest first,” T’Challa said quickly. “I will need to speak with the Elders, as well.”

 

“They will not be happy,” Ramonda commented darkly.

 

“I will deal with them,” T’Challa insisted.

 

“We must also consider that it is winter outside,” Okoye added, speaking up at last.

 

“Yes,” Steve agreed, “the frost has come early, everywhere will be covered with snow soon.”

 

“C’mon!” Erik groaned, dropping back into his seat.

 

“This is what we must discuss,” T’Challa responded. “Do we wait for spring to clear the snow? Or do we act now?”

 

“The Cretans are used to fighting in the cold,” Erik admitted. “We’re not.”

 

“But there’s a rebellion in Titan,” Steve added. “Princess Carter is leading it, remember?”

 

“I could teach your men how to fight in the snow,” Bucky volunteered.

 

Sam glanced to him as T’Challa smiled serenely. Okoye pursed her lips.

 

“Our troops are mostly women,” T’Challa told him simply. “And those I intend to send out will all be from the Dora Milaje, who are all women.”

 

“Sorry,” Bucky said quickly. “I can still teach them how to fight in the snow. My master trained me in blizzards when I was a squire.”

 

Sam glanced to Bucky again, surprised. “Where are you from?” he asked.

 

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said shortly, keeping his focus on T’Challa. “There are tactics the Cretans won’t know –”

 

“There aren’t any knights in Brooklyn,” Sam interrupted. “Only Cretans.”

 

“I’m older than I look,” Bucky added, again, brief.

 

“What does that mean?” Sam demanded.

 

“I’m a hundred and one, pal,” Bucky snapped. “Enough?”

 

Sam blinked again, leaning back. The others at the table went quiet.

 

“Are you non-human?” T’Challa asked politely.

 

“No,” Bucky said shortly again.

 

“He is a werewolf,” Okoye volunteered.

 

“Can we focus on Thanos?” Steve asked.

 

“We will,” T’Challa assured him, leaning forward in his seat. “But now I am curious about your mate.”

 

“Man’s old,” Erik said, “so what?”

 

“Take off your gloves,” T’Challa asked Bucky.

 

Bucky clenched his jaw, his gaze focused on T’Challa’s. T’Challa didn’t bend and Bucky seemed to grow even more frustrated. Steve glanced at Sam, suddenly annoyed himself. Sam raised his eyebrows defensively, leaning back again.

 

Bucky jerkily tugged his hand away from Steve and yanked his gloves off. He took the right one off first, revealing a disfigured hand with long yellowed nails like claws, but Sam’s discomfort with the right hand was quickly distracted by the flash of metal as Bucky removed his left glove.

 

“Happy?” Bucky asked in a growl, dropping his gloves onto the table.

 

His left hand was made entirely of bright and shining metal. Sam couldn’t stop himself from staring. The Winter Soldier was his best friend’s mate.

 

Okoye reacted first. She threw out her hand and expanded her vibranium spear, leaping onto the table in front of T’Challa to point the tip of the spear into Bucky’s face. Sam jumped back from the table, drawing his sword, as Nakia conjured her Ring Blades and Erik touched the necklace of panther claws around his neck, sending his Black Panther armor to cover his body while simultaneously grabbing Shuri and yanking her up and away from the table.

 

But Bucky, the Winter Soldier, didn’t seem fazed. Steve reacted to Okoye, but the Soldier grabbed his wrists to stop him from whatever he’d been about to do. Steve jolted and glanced at him, but Bucky just looked at the table.

 

Bruce raised his hands in a pacifying manner.

 

“Can we all just take a step back here?” he asked. “Please?”

 

“We know who that is,” Okoye snapped. “What did you intend to do, wolf? Did you mean to take us down from the inside for your master?”

 

“Bucky does not serve Thanos!” Steve snapped angrily.

 

“He serves the Red Skull!” Okoye insisted. “We know Thanos employed him!”

 

“He doesn’t serve Red Skull, either!” Steve retorted, trying to jerk his hands out of the Soldier’s grip.

 

“Sweetheart,” the Winter Soldier said abruptly, softly.

 

Sam faltered almost, his sword tip dropping. Steve stopped fighting to free his hands and instead turned his wide eyes on the Soldier. The Soldier just let go of one of his wrists and instead wrapped his right arm around Steve’s shoulders, then lay his metal hand flat on the table.

 

“Okoye,” T’Challa said then, “please, get down.”

 

“Your Majesty?” Okoye questioned without looking.

 

“Please,” T’Challa repeated. “Steve is telling the truth. Get down.”

 

Okoye lifted her spear. She still aimed distrustful eyes at the Soldier, but stepped back and jumped down from the table. Nakia did not lower her Ring Blades, though, and Erik kept Shuri pushed behind him.

 

“Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier anymore,” Steve insisted then. “He definitely doesn’t serve Red Skull. I freed him of the enchantment that bound him.”

 

Sam glanced around, confused. T’Challa nodded thoughtfully while Okoye kept her spear at the ready.

 

“I suspected something of the sort,” T’Challa said. “How were you bound?”

 

Bucky grimaced and withdrew his arm. He shifted in his chair and pulled his left arm from its sleeve, pushing aside his leather pauldrons and tunic to free it completely. The coverings pushed aside, Bucky revealed a dark red crystal cut in the shape of a star in his shoulder. It was cracked down the middle.

 

“Don’t know the exact spell,” Bucky said briefly. “I wasn’t conscious at any point after the Red Skull bound me until Thanos and his men broke this crystal 40 years ago.”

 

“It was very dark, dark magic,” Steve insisted. “The Morrígan was really the one who removed the enchantment, I was just the vessel.”

 

“That crystal powered it?” T’Challa asked. “The enchantment?”

 

Bucky nodded. “As far as I can tell.”

 

“What is it made from?” Shuri asked then, stepping out from behind Erik.

 

“Princess!” Erik protested, grabbing her arm.

 

“Let go!” Shuri snapped. “He’s harmless!”

 

“It’s the Winter Soldier!” Erik hissed.

 

“He’s not!” Steve countered. “He’s just a man!”

 

“What is it made from?” Shuri repeated, walking around the table boldly to reach Bucky. “It is too bright to be iron.”

 

“Silver,” Bucky said, twisting away to face her, looking wary.

 

“But you’re a werewolf?” Nakia questioned.

 

Bucky glanced at her, then shrugged. “I don’t remember how they cured me of the sensitivity.”

 

Shuri picked up Bucky’s left hand then. Bucky jolted, but held very still as Shuri turned it and looked it over.

 

“It’s very crude,” she remarked. “I could do much better.”

 

“Uh,” Bucky said.

 

“My sister,” T’Challa explained. “She is an engineer and an alchemist.”

 

“Very heavy, too,” Shuri mused. “I could do much, much better. Brother, you must wait until I replace this piece of junk to storm Titan.”

 

“What?” Bucky spluttered. “Wait a second –”

 

“This thing is so poorly executed, it makes my own spine hurt!” Shuri insisted, looking at Bucky’s face at last. “I will make a better one, okay?”

 

“What?” Bucky repeated.

 

Steve grabbed his arm. “Say yes, love.”

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, then back at Shuri. “Yes?” he said hesitantly.

 

“Excellent!” Shuri said, clapping her hands together. “I will go put together some blueprints right now, brother! Have someone show him to my lab when you’re done so I can take that one apart?”

 

T’Challa waved a hand. Shuri clapped her hands together again and sprinted off, excited about her new project.

 

“Shuri!” Ramonda called after her. “Lunch!”

 

Shuri skidded to a halt in the doorway, groaning. She turned around and headed for the icebox (a fascinating Wakandan invention), pulled it open, and grabbed a wrapped sandwich. She waved it at her mother, who smiled and nodded, and Shuri then ran off again with it.

 

T’Challa shook his head with a smile.

 

“You should all be eating,” Ramonda added. “Especially you, boy, you’re the size of a twig.”

 

Steve jolted as he realized Ramonda was talking to him. He flushed.

 

“That’s somethin’ I can get behind,” Bucky said, having apparently regained his composure.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, but Sam could see that he was fighting a smile. “What’s with you and fattening me up?” he demanded. “Are you gonna eat me one day?”

 

Bucky laughed abruptly, startling Sam, and threw his arm back over Steve’s shoulders. He didn’t answer audibly, just murmuring in Steve’s ear, and Steve blushed a little in response.

 

“I know for a fact that a good meal will lead to wise strategic decisions,” Ramonda announced, standing up from her seat and tucking the child in her lap onto her hip instead. “Fattening aside,” she added, glancing with a smile to Steve.

 

Sam smiled, too, happy to see Ramonda so easily accepting these newcomers. Steve deserved all the love he could get after his hard life.

 

“Here,” Ramonda said, handing the child to T’Challa, “have a little practice.”

 

“Mamma!” T’Challa spluttered, his calm demeanor shattering as Nakia laughed beside him.

 

“What?” Ramonda returned, the picture of innocence. “Okoye, help me.”

 

Okoye sighed and collapsed her spear. Sam at last sheathed his sword and sat again.

 

“I really am glad you’re here,” Sam said to Steve. “Even if you’re bringing another war with you.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Did you expect anything less?” he asked.

 

Sam had to laugh. “You’re right,” he agreed. “You could find trouble in the least likely of places.”

 

Steve grinned, looking a little sheepish. “I don’t always go looking for trouble.”

 

Sam just raised his eyebrows. Steve laughed again, leaning into Bucky. Sam shot him a look, and as he saw Bucky smile down at Steve, he relented. He’d give this Alpha the benefit of the doubt. At least he was encouraging Steve to gain a little weight. Ma had always fretted over Steve’s thin stature. Skin and bones, she always said.

 

Sarah had, too, Sam knew. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _that was fun_


	18. THE JOURNEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _overprotective best friend mode still activated. ay._

##  _[THE JOURNEY]_

  


Bucky looked in awe at his left arm. Shuri, just behind him, was doing some last minute touches to the inner wiring. Bucky had no idea how she’d done it.

 

It was half the weight of the other arm, maybe even less, but had already proven to be even stronger. Shuri had crafted it from vibranium, a metal unique to Wakanda. It was pure black, but had veins of gold separating the plates and forming the internal mechanisms. The old arm had always been ugly and bulky to Bucky’s eyes; this one was a work of beauty.

 

“It’s amazing,” he kept repeating.

 

“It’s basic!” Shuri insisted. “Honestly, whoever built that other thing must’ve been _intending_ to make it hurt. It was wired into your pain receptors! That could not have been intentional!” 

 

“How come you never told me your arm was causing you pain?” Steve demanded of him, looking upset by the knowledge.

 

“I got used to it,” Bucky defended himself. “It wasn’t that bad, sweetheart.”

 

Steve pouted. Bucky lifted his left hand and reached for him, wanting to feel the supple softness of his skin again. Steve linked their hands and Bucky pulled him close, running his metal fingers over Steve’s arm, reveling in the sensation. He could feel so much more with this arm, more than he even could with his flesh hand!

 

“It’s amazing,” Bucky said yet again.

 

“I’m done!” Shuri announced, shutting a panel in Bucky’s arm; the arm hissed as the inside pressurized. “Well, I’ll never be fully done, I’ve already got ideas for updates.”

 

She flitted away then, going to another work table strewn with notes and other small models. Bucky just tugged Steve closer and pressed his vibranium hand to Steve’s cheek.

 

“Your skin is so soft,” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve blushed. Bucky could feel the _heat_ of it under his hand.

 

“You’re so beautiful when you blush,” Bucky added, brushing his thumb over Steve’s lips. “You’re always so beautiful.”

 

“Layin’ it on real thick,” Steve grumbled, his blush growing.

 

Bucky smiled and just swept his hand through Steve’s silky hair. It was grown past his ears now.

 

“Jus’ speakin’ the obvious,” Bucky said. “Hey,” he added, standing up at last to crowd into Steve’s space, “wanna…?”

 

He wiggled his eyebrows. Steve snorted and pressed into Bucky’s body for a hug, hiding his face.

 

“You done with me?” Bucky called to Shuri.

 

“Huh?” Shuri said, glancing up. “Oh, yes, yes, get out of here! I think my brother wanted to talk to you about the war.”

 

“Right,” Bucky said, sobering. “Thanks for everything, Your Majesty.”

 

“Shuri,” Shuri corrected with a groan. “Come on, how many times must I tell you?”

 

Bucky shrugged, turning Steve by the shoulders. “Just one more time, Your Majesty.”

 

Shuri rolled her eyes. “Out!” she shouted. “Go annoy T’Challa!”

 

Steve laughed as Bucky pushed him from the room. Bucky shook his head, smiling to himself. Shuri reminded him of his little sisters once upon a time.

 

He missed them.

 

“I think we’ll be leaving for Titan soon,” Steve said quietly as they made their way out of the castle dungeons. “Snow or no snow.”

 

“The sooner, the better,” Bucky agreed. “The longer Thanos is in charge, the more lives he ruins.”

 

Steve nodded. Both of them remembered how diligently the Cretan soldiers were looking for male Omegas. Bucky was eager to see the violence end.

 

They found T’Challa in the kitchen, where lately they’d been holding all their war meetings. Okoye, Nakia, Erik, and Sam were with him, as were more of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje and some men from the Border and Jabari tribes and Strange, the dragon. T’Challa was amassing an army to storm Titan with and much of Wakanda were responding with enthusiasm.

 

“Hi,” Steve said as he entered. “Have you seen Natasha?”

 

T’Challa glanced up, then shook his head. “Not in some time,” he answered. “Is she still missing?”

 

Steve nodded worriedly. “She promised she would be back,” he said, though he didn’t sound sure. “I didn’t realize it would take so long.”

 

Bucky pushed his arm around Steve’s shoulders, squeezing gently. Natasha and Clint had vanished more than a week ago, leaving this plane for the Feywild they came from. Bucky didn’t want to doubt his mate’s aunt, but fair folk never did like open warfare.

 

“I’m sure she shall return,” T’Challa insisted. “In the meantime, we have received a reply from Princess Carter.”

 

“Really?” Steve said excitedly, darting forward. “Can I see?”

 

T’Challa handed a letter to Steve, who took it and scanned it quickly. He grinned.

 

“Thanos hasn’t left Titan in months!” he said excitedly. “We can box him in!”

 

“We may not have the power to do so,” M’Baku, the leader of the Jabari Tribe, warned. “Thanos has more than five thousand soldiers in his army, at the littlest. We only have a few hundred.”

 

“But not all of Thanos’s troops are in Titan!” Steve insisted. “They’re all spread out across the continent; half of them have to be engaged with the Nordic clans!”

 

“We haven’t been able to make contact with the Nords, however,” T’Challa warned. “We are probably on our own.”

 

Steve faltered. “You’re right,” he said, setting the letter down.

 

Bucky cupped Steve’s shoulder with his left hand, squeezing a little. “We can do this,” he insisted.

 

“C’mon, we got a dragon on our side!” Erik added. “That’s gotta be worth a thousand soldiers.”

 

“We have to get to Titan first,” Steve countered. “And Thanos has the Red Skull; he’ll see us coming a mile off.”

 

“Perhaps,” Strange mused. “Or perhaps not.”

 

“What does that mean?” Steve asked, looking up.

 

Strange shrugged. “It may be possible to storm Titan without crossing Cretus,” he said.

 

“How?” T’Challa asked with a frown.

 

“If a small party were able to sneak in,” Strange said, bending over the large map spread over the table to take a single marker from Wakanda and transfer it to the city of Titan, “a portal could be made from here to there.”

 

“Portal?” T’Challa questioned.

 

“It would be risky,” Strange added. “My kind used to use these to travel long distances, but they require hands at each end. I would have to stay here to build it and someone would have to travel ahead to build the corresponding door.”

 

Bucky sighed. “And by someone, you mean Steve.”  


Strange shrugged. “There is no one else capable.”

 

“But if he were captured,” Okoye warned without finishing.

 

Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulders with both hands. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” he insisted.

 

Okoye rolled her eyes. “If you _both_ were,” she said. “You are not infallible.”

 

“But if we managed it,” Steve argued. “We could supply Princess Carter with our forces without having to get past Thanos’s.”

 

“And you haven’t suggested this ‘til now because…?” Erik asked Strange.

 

Strange shrugged. “The timing had to be optimal.”

 

“We still only have a few hundred soldiers,” M’Baku warned. “Even if we can enter Titan undetected, we’d have to send all our soldiers through one small portal.”

 

“Small?” Strange scoffed. “My dear man, it is designed for _dragons._ ”

 

M’Baku paused, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough,” he muttered.

 

“Your point was that Thanos would still have more men,” Okoye added. “It is not just him we have to take out, it is his whole military.”

 

“But if we can take out Thanos first, they might surrender,” Steve said.

 

“We cannot depend on that!” Okoye countered.

 

“We must try,” T’Challa said firmly. “This party, it should be small.”

 

“I’m going if Steve is,” Bucky said immediately.

 

“Of course,” Sam muttered. “I’m going, too, then.”

 

Bucky shot Sam a glare; he didn’t understand why the Beta was so obstinate, but he wouldn’t trust Bucky with Steve’s safety. Then again, Sam knew Bucky’s past. It was frustrating at any rate.

 

“I would need to stay here,” Strange said quickly.

 

“Of course,” Erik muttered. “Yannow what? Imma go. I wanna punch that big ass bastard in the face personally.”

 

“Get in line,” Steve told him.

 

“I think I shall go,” T’Challa announced.

 

“Your Highness!” Okoye said quickly.

 

“I’m going if you are,” Nakia cut Okoye off.

 

“I shall be fine,” T’Challa insisted.

 

“It is a terrible idea,” Okoye sighed. “I’ll go, too.”

 

“That is plenty of people,” Strange said. “You go, you sneak in, and find a good place to build the other end of the portal. We’ll have to have a set time that I will open the portal to. If you don’t make it –”

 

He didn’t finish, just shrugged. “Heliopolita is very nice this time of year,” he said.

 

“We will not fail,” T’Challa insisted. “Titan is only three weeks’ travel away.”

 

“Longer with the snow,” Bucky added.

 

“Then let’s plan to open the portal on the Winter Solstice,” Steve decided. “We’ll have seven weeks to get to Titan and get in contact with Princess Carter.”

 

“M’Baku,” T’Challa added, “I would like you to serve as steward while I am gone.”

 

M’Baku just nodded.

 

“We should send someone to the Nords,” Okoye added. “Perhaps our messages were just not received.”

 

“I will send my fastest men,” W’Kabi spoke up.

 

T’Challa nodded, his gaze focused on the map. “It is settled,” he declared. “Strange, how long do you need to teach Steven the magic necessary for the portal?”

 

Strange clapped his hands and a massive book appeared out of nowhere. It landed on the table with a deep _thud!_ and knocked over the markers on the map. Strange picked it up and just handed it to Steve.

 

“You can read as you travel,” he said.

 

“Then we leave in the morning,” T’Challa announced, pushing off the table. “I must inform the Elders and my mother. Excuse me.”

 

The room emptied. Steve turned around, his eyes wide as they met Bucky’s.

 

“We’re doing this,” he said softly.

 

Bucky picked up Steve’s hands. “We’re doing this,” he affirmed.

 

Steve let out a harsh breath. Bucky pulled him closer and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing his shoulders.

 

“We should get plenty of rest,” he told Steve gently. “C’mon.”

 

They had a guest apartment on one of the upper floors; a small sitting room with a fireplace, a little balcony, and a bedroom with its own bathroom; made possible by one of the miracles of Wakandan technology, indoor plumbing. Bucky was sure he would never be able to function without his own personal bathroom again. Fortunately, Steve had already bartered the secrets of indoor plumbing from T’Challa to introduce when he took over Yorke again.

 

Bucky brought Steve up to the bedroom, where they had a more permanent nest built on the low pallet set in the center of the room. It was still all the same furs and blankets that Bucky kept in his magic belt, but the fixed location made a difference.

 

Steve and Bucky sat on the edges to remove their shoes. Bucky stopped there, but Steve proceeded to continue past that; taking off the tunic and long pants that was the fashion in Wakanda, clothes gifted to them by the royal household. It left him in just a secondary, sleeveless under-tunic, which fell just to his hips and covered his smallclothes.

 

“Bed bed?” Bucky asked as Steve disrobed. “You don’t want supper?”

 

Steve shook his head. “I just want to sleep,” he admitted.

 

Bucky gave a nod. “How ‘bout I bring something up?” he offered.

 

Steve thought about it, then nodded. Bucky replaced his boots and pushed up again. Steve caught his wrist and Bucky paused, turning back. Steve tugged and Bucky obeyed. He bent and pressed their lips together, lingering to absorb his mate’s scent and share his own in return.

 

“Hurry back, love,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky gently knocked a knuckle under Steve’s chin with a smile and another kiss, then straightened up and headed back out.

 

He returned to the kitchen/war-room they’d just left. The main kitchen would be bustling with cooks at that time, but in the private royal kitchen, only Ramonda was there.

 

She stood by the central hearth, a large, open fireplace in the center of the room, stirring a heavy cauldron. She looked up and smiled as Bucky entered, tucking a loose braid back behind her ear.

 

“Hello,” she said. “Hungry?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky admitted, “but I’m here to get something for Steve.”

 

Ramonda smiled a little more. “Good. He’s much too skinny still,” she remarked.

 

Bucky smiled, too, nodding his agreement. Ramonda glanced down into the cauldron, then waved him over.

 

“You can have some of this,” she said. “The servants always prepare meals for the household and the nobles, but it has always been the duty of the Queen to prepare a meal for the servants. We don’t employ very many servants, however,” she continued, “and I always overestimate how much I should make.”

 

Bucky took a few clay bowls from the cupboard, some spoons, and joined Ramonda at the hearth. He knelt and held up the bowls, cupping each in his palms.

 

“It’s quite hot,” Ramonda warned as she began to ladle the stew into the bowls.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky answered, “I can’t feel much heat with my right hand and the left is metal.”

 

Ramonda gave a smile and a soft chuckle. Bucky smiled as well, looking down to hold the bowls steady.

 

Bowls filled, Bucky rose from the floor and bowed his head to the Queen. “Thank you,” he said and Ramonda gave him another easy smile.

 

“Worry not,” she replied. “It is the responsibility of a Queen to see that all her subjects are cared for, even the guests.”

 

Bucky smiled again, nodding. “I’ll remember that for when Steve becomes the King of Yorke,” he joked.

 

“Your second duty will, of course, be keeping the king happy,” Ramonda added seriously, then winked.

 

“Then I’d better not keep him waiting,” Bucky agreed with a laugh. “Thank you for the stew, Your Majesty.”

 

“You’re very welcome,” Ramonda answered with a smile.

 

Bucky left the kitchen carefully, minding the bowls of stew in his hands. He quickly chose a route back to the room he shared with Steve that took less trafficked passageways, as servants bustled about with the evening routine. In just a few minutes, he nudged open the door to their apartment and closed it again behind him with a thud of his boot.

 

“I’m back!” he called out. “The Queen gave me some stew.”

 

Bucky reentered the bedroom. Immediately, he spotted Steve bundled up amongst the furs; fast asleep.

 

Bucky moved to the edge of the nest, looking down and smiling, then turned and set the bowls on a nearby low table.

 

He knelt at the edge of the nest to slip off his boots, his outer clothing, even his shirt and smallclothes. Naked, he crawled over the layers of furs and found a spot just over top of Steve. Bucky adjusted the blankets and fur plates just on top of his mate to get under them, then pulled more to cover the both of them. Steve was naked as well, and in his sleep, he reached out to press against Bucky.

 

Bucky slipped his arms around Steve’s body and tucked a leg over top of him, letting his chin tuck over Steve’s head. He shut his eyes, cushioning his head on a rolled up fur plate, and let his breathing slow.

 

Bucky was lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of his mate’s breathing and the sweetness of his scent. Given the security of doors and locks, Bucky slept truly. He even dreamed.

 

The sunrise woke Bucky in the morning, some ten hours later. He lifted his head, yawned, and tucked it back down again to press his nose into Steve’s hair. He snuffled and rubbed his face into Steve’s silky hair, pressing his scent into his scalp. Steve snorted in his sleep, twitching, and Bucky curled his leg tighter around Steve’s.

 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he rumbled softly.

 

Steve groaned a little. “Mornin’, love,” he muttered back, nuzzling his face in Bucky’s chest. “…time is it?”

 

“Sunrise,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve hummed then. He pressed closer, slipping his knee between Bucky’s. Bucky hitched him even closer.

 

“Gonna be lotta people on the journey,” he mumbled then. “Not a lotta elbow room, even if we have our own tent.”

 

Steve laughed softly in answer. “If you’re implying what I think you are,” he chuckled, “I think I can make soundproof wards.”

 

“Still,” Bucky said, more awake now. “Just in case?”

 

Steve chuckled again. “No need to reason for it,” he murmured, then lifted his head to look up at Bucky. “I’ll say _yes_ anyway.”

 

“In that case,” Bucky returned, then rolled them over to get on top of Steve. “Wanna fuck, sugar?”

 

Steve laughed and pulled Bucky down into a kiss. That was answer plenty.

 

The sun a little higher off the horizon when they got up from the nest. After they dressed, Bucky began to roll up the blankets and fur plates and tucked each into his enchanted belt. Steve looked a little sad to see the nest be packed away, and Bucky couldn’t deny that he was, as well. The permanency, for however little long they had it, had been nice.

 

The bowls of stew were cold by then, but still delicious. They drank them on the balcony, watching the sun rise by the inch. It was, Bucky knew, the last simple morning meal they would have for a long time. There was the chance it would be the last time, even. Bucky kept his arm around Steve’s shoulders and drank slowly despite the need for urgency. He wanted to make the moment last.

 

Finally, a servant knocked on their door to summon them. Bucky packed the last of their things away and followed the servant to the first floor and the entrance hall, where T’Challa and the rest of the party were waiting.

 

“You never came down for breakfast,” T’Challa observed.

 

“We ate in our room,” Bucky replied.

 

T’Challa just gave a nod, understanding, without either Bucky or Steve saying so, that they had wanted to use up the last minutes of their privacy as best they could. The covered wagon Bucky and Steve had ridden in was waiting outside and with the help of the servants, they packed it with everything needed for the journey. Much of Bucky’s gear was already suitable for the trip, but additional tents, food, and clothes were packed.

 

“I was not sure if you would wish for more of the same clothes we gave you,” T’Challa said, “but everything you brought has been washed and packed for you.”

 

“I was disguised as a woman on the journey here,” Steve explained, “so unless you have the clothes that common women wear in Cretan territory, your kindness wouldn’t be as helpful.”

 

“I understand,” T’Challa said. “I suspected that there was something unique about your wardrobe.”

 

The wagon was soon packed and soon very full. Even with just two more people, quarters were cramped. Sam and Okoye chose to ride in the cab of the wagon with Bucky and Steve, and as they made their way from the palace out of the city and towards the border, Steve noticed Bucky getting more and more agitated about how close Sam was forced to sit next to him. After realizing this, Steve decided it wasn’t worth the stress it would cause Bucky and just slipped off the bench, instead settling himself on the floor between Bucky’s legs.

 

“You alright?” Sam asked.

 

“Fine,” Steve replied, resting his head on Bucky’s knee. “Just a little cramped.”

 

Sam didn’t answer that. Bucky tucked Patchouli’s reigns into his right hand and instead pushed his left into Steve’s hair. Steve shut his eyes, pulling his bear cloak around him tighter, and let himself just enjoy it.

 

They entered the mountain pass by mid-morning and soon the air began to chill. T’Challa passed out blankets packed into their supplies, but Bucky pulled one of the fur plates from his belt to hand to Steve. Steve happily took it and laid it over his lap, tucking again against his Alpha’s knee. That and the high walls of the cab left him comfortably warm, enough so that he fell asleep.

 

Steve woke again at mid-day when Bucky stopped to water Patchouli. He sat up to let Bucky get down and rubbed at his eyes, feeling disoriented. Sam leaned down and touched his shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked for the second time. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

 

Steve hesitated, then just shrugged. “If I sit on the bench, I’m pressed up against you; it leaves your scent on me.”

 

“So?” Sam questioned. “We shared a room for years, Steve!”

 

“Bucky doesn’t like it,” Steve insisted.

 

Okoye abruptly scoffed. “So what?” she offered. “Scents get passed around all the time, why does it matter?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “why can’t he just deal with it?”

 

Sam’s harsh attitude lifted Steve’s defenses. He glared at him, and at Okoye, and decided to address her first.

 

“I think it’s different for Beta partners,” he said, respectfully despite his irritation. “Alphas are much more territorial.”

 

Okoye rolled her eyes and looked away. Sam scowled.

 

“You can’t let _him_ control your whole life,” he snapped. “Isn’t that why you joined the courtesan’s guild as soon as you were old enough? Because you didn’t want to be handed off to some pig-headed Alpha and ordered around every second of the day?” 

 

“I wasn’t handed off to Bucky!” Steve snapped back. “I chose him! It makes him upset when other people’s scents get on me and I would rather sit on the floor and let him pet my hair than be squished on the bench and make him deal with that anxiety, thank you, Sam!”

 

He ended in a harsh whisper, because he knew Bucky could hear. He turned away, pulling the fur plate over himself and his hood up over his head. He didn’t understand Sam’s attitude. He had been so sure that Sam would be happy for him, that he had found someone to really love.

 

Steve didn’t understand.

 

When Bucky returned, he didn’t say a word of Sam and Okoye’s judgy statements even though Steve knew he heard them. He climbed back into the cab of the wagon, settled down between Sam and Okoye, and spread his knees to allow Steve to sit between them. He held the reins in his left hand that time, using his right to maintain contact to Steve’s cheek. Steve eventually turned it to press the palm against his face, leaned into it, and let the boredom of the road lull him back into sleep.

 

He woke again when they stopped to set up camp for the night. Bucky gently jostled his shoulder to rouse him, but Steve had already heard the louder voices and the change in Patchouli’s whinnying.

 

“Are you awake enough to cast the ward?” Bucky asked him in a whisper.

 

Steve nodded, sitting up and stretching. “Jus’ need a bite of food,” he mumbled. “An’ a kiss.”

 

Bucky chuckled. Steve twisted onto his knees and lifted up to get closer and Bucky met him halfway. He cupped his jaw with his flesh hand and Steve curled his fingers into Bucky’s collar. The kiss stretched out; Steve parted his lips to let Bucky sweep his tongue into his mouth and lifted higher up to press a little closer as Bucky wrapped his arms around his back.

 

“Hey, Steve!” Sam called abruptly. “Steve!”

 

Steve jerked back, startled and panting. Sam hooked a foot into the rungs of the ladder, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Where do you want your tent set up?”

 

“I’ll get it,” Bucky snapped. “‘Scuse us.”

 

Sam definitely glared at Bucky as he got down, and Steve gave him a look of bewilderment for it. Sam held his hand out as Bucky jumped down, waving it when Steve didn’t take it. Steve hardened his gaze and sat back, waiting for Bucky to turn back and hold out his hand instead.

 

Sam looked angry as Steve took Bucky’s hand. Steve didn’t understand.

 

“I’m casting the circle,” Steve decided, grabbing the hilt of Bucky’s sword.

 

“Don’t you want to eat first?” Bucky asked, frowning.

 

“I’d rather get it over with,” Steve retorted. “Can I?”

 

He meant the sword. Bucky nodded and backed up so Steve could draw the heavy silver and iron blade. Steve turned and strode ahead to where the others were already setting up their tents.

 

“Set up your tents in a dense cluster,” he announced. “I’m casting a ward around us.”

 

“The ward you used in the pass?” Okoye asked, sounding intrigued.

 

“Yep,” Steve said. “Anything outside it will be cut off.”

 

Erik lifted his eyebrows and moved to pull his tent in closer.

 

Steve first made the fire pit; curling his hand into a fist, he drew it back towards his ribs sharply, and a rough circle sunk down into the earth at the center of the tents. Bucky immediately walked up with a bundle of wood and Steve waited for him to build the structure of the fire before tossing his hand back out and letting flames pour from his fingers into the stack of wood. Bucky rose and kissed Steve’s cheek, wordlessly thanking him.

 

He then left to get their tent and Steve walked to the outskirts of where they would be camping. He dropped the sword tip into the ground, then began to pace, drawing out the line. Okoye and T’Challa watched him, and after a minute, Erik and Sam joined them. Bruce and Bucky merely continued pitching the tents.

 

“What are you doing?” T’Challa asked.

 

“Making a circle,” Steve replied briefly.

 

“Obviously,” Okoye muttered.

 

Steve ignored her. He traced the circle all the way around their camp, including the wagon, and came up with a rather egg-shaped oval, as usual. The circle closed, Steve returned to Bucky and tapped him on the shoulder before handing his sword back and drawing a handful of herbs from his belt. Bucky was unfazed and just resumed building their tent after sheathing his sword.

 

Steve strode to fire pit, the newcomers to the party watching intently. He lowered himself to his knees and considered the size of the blaze. He bent low and, making sure the line was clear, he blew into the fresh coals at the base, just to see.

 

Flames formed just past his lips, spitting out to light up the coals and cast the fire into a larger blaze. Satisfied, Steve sat up again.

 

“I cast a circle,” he began succinctly, “a circle locked, a circle stronghold. I cast a circle and declare it mine until it is broken. Everything living and alive and in between shall respect my circle, and will not cross it. Until this circle is released, everything living and alive and in between will fuck off.”

 

“Is that it?” Okoye demanded.

 

Steve threw the herbs into the flames. They immediately turned jet black and roared to a height of nearly seven feet. Steve stood up, stepped back, and brushed off his hands. The flames returned to normal, crackling merrily once more.

 

“That’s it,” he replied blithely.

 

Okoye actually looked a little stunned. Erik raised his eyebrows and gave a slow nod and T’Challa clapped a few times.

 

Sam looked at Steve like he hadn’t actually seen him until that moment. Steve wasn’t sure if Sam was impressed like the others, or worried. He turned away.

 

Bucky had finished setting up the tent. Steve ducked into it and grabbed Bucky by the belt to haul him in. Bucky stumbled, but ducked and followed. Steve shoved his hand wordlessly into the pouch with their bedding and began pulling it all out.

 

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked softly.

 

Steve just shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He abandoned the task of setting up their nest and instead moved to the outskirts of the tent; he stuck a finger into the dirt and began to draw another circle, all the way around the lining of the tent. This line wasn’t as important; it was the tent walls he was going to magick.

 

“Sweetheart?” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve tied the tent flaps, then grabbed them with both hands and bowed his head. “Let the words we say not carry outside,” he whispered, “as I say, so it be.”

 

He turned and snatched the dagger from Bucky’s belt. Bucky let out an exclamation, but Steve faced the tent entrance again and deftly pricked his finger. He squeezed out a drop of blood, then wiped it on the inner lining of the tent.

 

The line he’d drawn into the ground glowed softly, then the glow slipped into the tent walls and dissipated. Steve turned back and handed the dagger to Bucky. Bucky tucked it back into its sheath, a worried frown on his face.

 

Steve crawled closer and began laying out the furs on the two bedrolls. Bucky caught his shoulders and stopped him.

 

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

 

“Sam,” Steve mumbled. “He – He’s upset about us. Our bond. He doesn’t approve.”

 

Bucky cupped his chin, then his face. Steve caved and surged forward to eliminate all the space between them, securing himself in Bucky’s arms. Bucky hugged him tightly and nuzzled his cheek into his hair.

 

“He’ll see,” Bucky murmured. “He’ll see.”

 

They lay down. Bucky covered them in the layers of fur plates and Steve curled up on his side to let Bucky wrap around him.

 

“It’ll be alright,” Bucky promised softly. “The war’ll be over soon, we’ll go home.”

 

“Where is home?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Brooklyn,” Bucky answered. “We’ll have a little house in Brooklyn and we’ll run a little apothecary shop out of it. You can sell potions and charms and I’ll do odd jobs. We’ll let people wait out the rain in our shop and anybody who doesn’t have a home can kip on the hearth. Our hearth’ll always be lit, my sweetheart.”

 

“Always,” Steve murmured back.

 

In the morning, Steve dressed again in the typical fashion of an Omega woman. The camp was packed up. As they prepared to leave, Sam climbed into the cab alongside Bucky and Steve. Okoye looked at them and climbed into the back.

 

“Maybe I could drive?” Sam suggested.

 

“I drive,” Bucky answered shortly.

 

Steve gritted his teeth and pulled his bear cloak around him. It was going to be a long journey.

 

Sam’s issues didn’t matter for the time being; they had to stop Thanos. Anything else could be left for a later date. Steve took out the thick book Doctor Strange had given him and began to read. He estimated it would take the whole trip to properly learn the portal spell. That was all that mattered.

 

The snow made the going rough, but Patchouli was a stout and steady horse. She pulled them steadily across the country, day by day, until the towering white city of Titan was before them.

 

“This is it,” Steve announced softly to the party. “We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _welp, we're almost to the end. i'll see you tomorrow!_


	19. THE CALM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the calm before the storm, ooh, dramatic_

##  _[THE CALM]_

 

The city of Titan was surrounded by a massive wall; fifty feet tall and made from cut limestone, it had archer towers at every fifty feet and parapets across the top of the wall. There was a massive iron grate 20 tall that would, likely, retract into the structure of the wall, and behind it were gates with bands and bolts to secure it.

 

There were guards checking every newcomer to the city, but Titan was a large city, and large cities always had small nooks and crannies that one could slip through.

 

Princess Carter’s words. She was working with the thieves’ guild, who knew an entrance that the guards didn’t.

 

The huge massive and intimidating gate meant nothing whatsoever in the end. Bucky guided Patchouli around the wide berth of the city to a much smaller gate over the river.

 

“Whoa, girl,” Bucky called softly to the horse.

 

Three hooded figures slipped out of the gate and onto a low bridge in the river, their boots splashing in water. Steve touched Bucky’s arm, then jumped down from the cab of the wagon on his own.

 

“Steve!” Sam hissed after him. “Wait!”

 

“Stay there!” Steve hissed back, lifting the hood of his bear cloak. “Trust me, okay?”

 

Sam looked unhappy about it, but he was staying. Steve approached the bridge and the three figures.

 

“How far did you travel?” the middle figure asked.

 

“Three weeks, as the crow flies,” Steve answered.

 

The asker pushed down their hood to reveal the face of a woman. She was pale and dark-haired, her eyes a soft brown. Her lips were painted a bright red, which was how Steve knew this was Princess Carter.

 

“The son of Sarah?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” Steve said.

 

Carter raised her eyebrows. “You don’t look like much, I’m afraid,” she continued.

 

“It’s the disguise,” Steve answered flippantly.

 

He turned and waved back to the wagon, signaling them to join him. Bucky whistled sharply and Patchouli began to trot again, closing the distance. Sam jumped down partway there and ran up to reach Steve’s side.

 

“This is Sam Wilson,” Steve introduced, “Sam, Princess Carter.”

 

“I’m not much of a princess anymore, either,” Carter answered. “Call me Peggy.”

 

Steve gave a nod. “Peggy,” he agreed. “Shall we go in?”

 

“Yes, let’s,” Peggy agreed. “Your wagon, may we –?”

 

“Please,” Steve answered, turning back as the wagon reached them.

 

Patchouli gave a derisive snort as Peggy and her companions neared. Sam walked with them to the back of the wagon while Steve climbed back into the cab, his eye on the Cretans. Erik looked suspicious of them as well, and Okoye might have been, too, but Steve wasn’t sure if that just wasn’t her face.

 

“Welcome to Titan,” the taller of Peggy’s companions wished them as Bucky took Patchouli through the gate.

 

“So,” Peggy began, “what’s your plan?”

 

“The witch and the dragon are going to create a portal and we’re gonna bust some heads,” Erik said.

 

Peggy gave a contemplative nod. “A decent plan,” she agreed. “I assume you’re bringing an army through the portal?”

 

“Yes,” T’Challa answered. “The armies of Wakanda.”

 

“There are a thousand men stationed in Titan alone,” Peggy warned them.

 

“One of my soldiers is worth one hundred of Thanos’s,” Okoye declared proudly.

 

Peggy thinned her lips. “We can only hope,” she said. “My people have everything riding on this. If this doesn’t work –”

 

“It has to,” Steve cut her off.

 

Peggy gave another nod, sitting back. The man who had spoken up leaned forward.

 

“Take a left here,” he directed. “Then a right after the blacksmith’s. I’m Peter, by the way, Peter Quill.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky replied. “Name’s Smith.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, smiling a little.

 

Quill guided them through the city, taking them to the very heart of the slums.

 

“After the next turn, just stop,” he said. “And wait there.”

 

Bucky cast a glance over his shoulder, then looked to Steve. Steve just shrugged. As they were told, Bucky stopped Patchouli after the next turn, leaving them standing in a narrow alleyway.

 

A raccoon appeared on the ledge of a nearby roof, then jumped down and scampered right up to the wagon. Steve raised his eyebrows at its audacity. Quill pushed forward a little more, leaning over the edge of the cab.

 

“Hey!” he called. “Hey, let us in!”

 

Steve leaned back to look at Quill with tightened eyebrows. Even if he talked to animals, he thought Quill was a little touched in the head.

 

Then the raccoon lifted onto its hind legs and set its paws on its hips.

 

“What’s the password?” it asked.

 

Steve was startled. Bucky elbowed him.

 

“Did that raccoon just talk?” he hissed. “In English?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve hissed back.

 

“Right,” Bucky muttered.

 

“The password’s you’re a jackass,” Quill declared, “and I’m your effing leader, so let us in!”

 

“You could be an imposter,” the raccoon suggested. “What do I know? My eyesight is so poor!”

 

“Rocket,” Quill said warningly.

 

“Fine, fine,” the raccoon sighed. “You never let me have any fun around here.”

 

“What the fuck,” Bucky whispered as the raccoon scampered away to the dead end of the alleyway and scrambled up a tall oak, leafless tree.

 

“What?” Quill asked. “Never heard a raccoon talk before?”

 

“Not without mentioning food,” Steve answered seriously.

 

Quill raised an eyebrow in his direction, then shrugged and looked away. The raccoon climbed to the top of the tree.

 

“Hey, hey, big guy!” it called. “Wake up!”

 

The tree shook. Steve’s eyebrows shot up. The tree’s limbs lowered and twined together, its trunk split, and, finally, it reshaped into the figure of a man. Granted, a man that was probably eight foot tall.

 

“Thank you,” the raccoon told the tree. “The door?”

 

“I am Groot,” the tree rumbled as it shifted.

 

“Yeah, you get to come inside this time,” the raccoon answered, “we’ll send some of the new kids to guard the entrance.”

 

“I am Groot,” the tree replied.

 

Steve glanced at Bucky. Bucky blinked once.

 

The tree took a few long and slow steps until reaching the tall wall blocking off the end of the alleyway. It bent in half and gripped the bottom of it. It lifted the wall up out of the ground, the foundations saturated in dirt and insects, and put it to the side. Behind the wall, a tunnel was revealed, leading down at a gentle slope. The tree turned and waved to the wagon. It had a face; it was smiling.

 

“That’s Rocket and Groot,” Quill offered at last.

 

Steve waved a little. Groot waved back.

 

"I am Groot," the tree said once again.

 

“Go on,” Quill said.

 

Bucky whistled to Patchouli. Patchouli tossed her head and whinnied, tapping her hooves against the cobblestone.

 

“It’s okay,” Steve said quickly, slipping forward to reach the horse and pat her rump. “Go on, it’ll be fine.”

 

Patchouli knickered nervously once more. Steve stroked her rump again and she kicked a foot before starting forward.

 

“Come on,” Quill called to Rocket and Groot.

 

“I am Groot?” Groot said.

 

“They’re the guys from Wakanda,” Quill said, waving to the tree-man. “Also Yorke,” he added, pointing to Steve and Bucky.

 

“I’m also from Yorke,” Sam offered.

 

Quill pointed. Groot stooped to look into the wagon, then waved to Sam. Sam waved back. Groot looked throughout the wagon’s interior, then stopped to smile at Steve.

 

“I am Groot,” Groot said.

 

Steve waved a little. “I am Steve Rogers,” he said.

 

Groot replaced the wall behind them, cutting out all light until Rocket lit a lantern stowed on the side of the tunnel. The raccoon and the tree took the lantern ahead to walk at the side of the horse and illuminate the path. Steve could see very little, though Bucky seemed quite unbothered by the darkness. The tunnel winded down, curving in places and leveling out in others. Other tunnels branched off, winding away into further darkness.

 

“These catacombs run all over the city,” Peggy told them. “Only the Ravagers have maps of them, so only they know of all the entrances.”

 

“Ravagers?” Steve repeated.

 

“The thieves’ guild,” Quill explained.

 

“Right,” Steve muttered.

 

Rocket and Groot lead them through the tunnels for almost an hour before more light appeared. It was just a small puddle of it, falling in an angled cone at the end of the tunnel where it curved to the left. Groot, with Rocket on his back, took his long, slow steps towards the curve and followed it around. Quill abruptly climbed over the back of the cab and jumped off the side to run and follow Groot and Rocket. Bucky whistled to Patchouli and snapped the reins and she, perhaps encouraged by the light, picked up her hooves a little higher.

 

The tunnel opened up into a cavern filled with lanterns, candles, and a massive bonfire at the center. There were small shacks and lean-tos lining the edges and around the bonfire were tables and benches and hundreds of people gathered around them. Quill shouted and waved to Bucky and Steve, directing them to a small stable off to the side. Patchouli whinnied loudly and she was answered by another dozen or so horses.

 

“Wow,” Steve muttered.

 

“Indeed,” Peggy answered.

 

Bucky jumped down and made quick work of releasing Patchouli from the posts of the wagon. Steve stood up, looking around, and from the back of the wagon, Peggy led the others out. Steve, without even meaning to, just waited for Bucky to return and offer his hands to help him down.

 

Steve smiled and set his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky grasped his waist and lifted him up and out of the wagon. When he put him on his feet, Steve lifted onto his toes and pressed their lips together. After the kiss, Bucky rubbed their noses together, then stepped closer and nuzzled the side of his face and neck.

 

“This way!” Peggy called.

 

Bucky slung his arms around Steve’s shoulders as they moved to follow the group. They could spot Groot’s massive figure near the bonfire, the raccoon on his shoulders, surrounded by several others. Peggy waited for Steve and Bucky to catch up, then lead them towards a hut near the bonfire.

 

“Here,” Peggy introduced them gently, showing them to the long table inside. “We’ll have some food and discuss the plan.”

 

“Thank you,” T’Challa answered. “We appreciate this hospitality.”

 

“Of course,” Peggy replied, stepping back out.

 

There were stools and chairs, one odd bench, surrounding the table. T’Challa took a chair at the far end, and, mimicking their positions back in Wakanda, Erik took the seat to his right and Nakia sat on his left, while Okoye took a standing position just behind him. Sam took the chair next to Erik, then waved to Steve.

 

Steve took the bench next to Nakia. Bucky took up the rest of the space on the bench, his arm automatically returning around Steve’s shoulders. Bruce took the chair next to Sam and Sam lowered his gaze, his jaw tight.

 

Steve ignored it. There wasn’t time for pettiness.

 

The doorway to the hut was covered by a curtain, which parted as Peggy reentered. She held the curtain aside and let in first Quill, then the man that had been with them earlier, then several others. An older man in noble’s clothes, a black man in a military uniform, a man with heavy blue warpaint and a smooth mohawk, wearing a red scarf that matched the one that Quill was wearing; two others followed behind, both wearing the signature red scarf. Groot bowed his way in, Rocket riding on his back, followed by a bare-chested man painted in gray and red warpaint. Last, a woman entered, wearing leather armor that was visibly expensive; she also had extensive warpaint, streaks of blue, her head shaved to be painted as well. They entered and took the remaining seats, leaving the chair at the head of the table empty.

 

“I will do introductions,” Peggy offered, letting the curtain fall again. “We are in the home of the Ravagers, these are their captains.”

 

The three in the red scarves, she touched their shoulders to indicate each of them. The man in the blue warpaint was Yondu Udonta, a born and raised Ravager who had lived in the catacombs his whole life. The other two were Stakar and Aleta Ogord, a married couple.

 

“Quill is the liaison to the crown,” Peggy told them with a sardonic smile. “The Ravagers have been a sort of shadow government since Thanos took over and neglected the people.”

 

“We may be thieves,” Yondu continued, “but we have hearts.”

 

“It’ll be a shame when things’ll go back to normal and I’ll have to arrest you,” the older man said.

 

Yondu bared his teeth in a grin. “It’s a good thing you won’t be able to find us, then.”

 

“Gentlemen,” Peggy said firmly. The two calmed. Peggy moved on, touching Quill’s shoulder. “Quill’s group, the Guardians’, have taken up protecting the city,” she said. “They help move refugees and those targeted by Thanos. Groot and Rocket work for him,” she told them, then moved to touch the shoulder of the man in gray and red warpaint, “as does Drax.”

 

“I do not work for Quill,” Drax said in a flat tone. “I work to end Thanos.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Quill said. “But that’s what all of us are doing.”

 

“This is Colonel Phillips,” Peggy continued, introducing the old man. “He and Colonel Rhodes –” she gestured to the black man “– have risked their lives to gather traitors to Thanos’s agenda within the military. We have nearly two hundred soldiers willing to betray Thanos to restore power to the crown.”

 

“That is very admirable,” T’Challa offered.

 

“Yes, very,” Peggy agreed.

 

Moving on, her hand came to rest on the shoulder of her earlier companion. “This is Howard Stark,” she told them, “he is an inventor and an alchemist. He has kept us supplied with weapons that far advance Thanos’s.”

 

“We will have to compare our technology,” T’Challa said.

 

“Yeah, definitely,” Stark agreed. “I’ve heard stories about you guys' tech. Is it true you’ve created a carriage that can drive itself, with no horse?”

 

“We have,” T’Challa said simply. “We will be happy to share once this war is over.”

 

“I’d be glad to see your stuff,” Stark replied.

 

Walking back to the end of the table, Peggy set her hands on the shoulders of the woman who had entered last.

 

“Nebula,” she introduced. “She is our secret weapon. She is Thanos’s daughters.”

 

“Thanos has daughters after all?” Bucky spoke up. “Imagine that…”

 

“I am not his children by blood,” Nebula spoke up with bitterness in her voice. “We were taken from our families when we were young and bullied and manipulated into loving Thanos as a father. Thanos killed my real family,” Nebula added. “I will do anything to see he gets his just deserves.”

 

Steve noticed that she said _we._

 

“It’s what we all want,” Quill agreed seriously.

 

Nebula looked like she was vibrating with anger, only barely containing it. Steve knew a need for revenge when he saw it.

 

Peggy finally took the chair at the head of the table, lowering into the seat. She set her hands on the table’s surface and looked around at them all. Her gaze landed on T’Challa.

 

“And you are the king of Wakanda,” she concluded. “Even after I received your message, I did not quite believe you existed.”

 

“We do,” T’Challa told her. “This is my cousin, Erik,” he gestured and Erik waved. “My chief of spies, Nakia,” he said, touching Nakia’s hand. “And my general, Okoye.”

 

“We’re very glad to have you,” Peggy said. “If nothing more than to know we have an ally. But I must ask, what brings you down from the mountains?”

 

“Thanos was responsible for the death of my father and my uncle,” T’Challa answered. “He has been trying to break through our borders for years now. When I learned of his barbaric hunt for the son of Sarah, we realized that we could sit idly by no longer.”

 

“I didn’t like bein’ called an incubus, either,” Erik added on.

 

“Very few of my people agree with Thanos on this,” Peggy responded.

 

“How many of your people thought it was a good idea to let soldiers feel up Yorkeish women to find male Omegas?” Bucky spoke up, anger coloring his tone.

 

Peggy gave him a hard look. “None,” she said firmly.

 

Steve set his hand on Bucky’s knee and squeezed it to calm him. Bucky looked away, then down, butting his forehead into Steve’s temple.

 

“We plan to open a portal between here and our capital city on the winter solstice,” T’Challa told Peggy. “My armies are equipped with weapons Thanos and your people have never seen. We have also sent runners to the Nordic clans to summon support.”

 

“We need all the help we can get,” Peggy replied.

 

“You shall have it,” an abrupt voice whispered across the hut.

 

The Ravagers and Cretans jumped to their feet, drawing daggers and swords, when the shadows in the room shimmered suddenly and out of them walked four figures in hoods. Bucky jolted but Steve grabbed his arm, sensing no danger from them. The whisper had been Natasha’s voice.

 

“They’re friends!” Steve called. “Don’t attack!”

 

“Who are they?” Yondu demanded.

 

One of them, the slightest, stepped forward and lowered her hood. Steve was never more relieved to see his aunt’s face.

 

“You may call me Natalya,” she announced to the room, her black and red eyes bright even in the low light. “I am the Queen of the Unseelie.”

 

The Cretans lowered their guards, clearly realizing that the newcomers were fair folk and their weapons would be no help to them.

 

Beside her, Clint lowered his hood, as did the other the other two. The shorter was a girl with dark red hair and red eyes that seemed to glow. The other –

 

“Pietro?” Steve questioned, stunned.

 

Pietro grinned at Steve, his blue eyes rimmed in black where before, they had always been the normal white. “‘Lo, Stevie,” he greeted. “Long time, no see?”

 

“You’re a fae!” Steve gasped, jumping up from the table to run and hug his old friend. “Oh, my gods, you’re a fae!”

 

Pietro laughed as he caught Steve in the hug, his arms squeezing Steve’s shoulders. Steve pulled back and Pietro gave him a quick kiss to the lips, greeting him as they always would at the brothel and had done since they’d first met at the courtesan’s school.

 

“I’ve never been gladder to discover one of my friends was a changeling,” Steve confessed to Pietro.

 

Pietro winked. “Had to keep an eye on you, cousin.”

 

“Oh,” Steve whispered, looking to Natasha. “Oh, wow.”

 

Natasha gave a small nod to him, before turning to address the hut at large again.

 

“These are my mate and eldest children,” she continued. “You may call them Barton, Pietro, and Wanda.”

 

“It is good to see you return,” T’Challa greeted, bowing his head to her. “I trust your sojourn was successful?”

 

“It was,” Natasha said, “for I bring good news.”

 

She then turned to Steve at last, stepping forward and taking his hands. Steve braced himself.

 

“The armies of the Seelie and Unseelie fae,” she told him, “are at the service of the Witchking of Yorke.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Steve repeated quietly.

 

“Since you don’t have your own army to contribute,” Natasha added with a wink. “Auntie to save the day.”

 

Steve hugged her. Natasha patted his shoulder.

 

“Imagine that,” he heard Quill saying in a tone of awe. “Fair folk finally give a damn about humans.”

 

Natasha released Steve, turning to aim her luminescent gaze on Quill.

 

“Thanos has been cutting down my forest for his armies,” she said emotionlessly. “Hundreds of dryads in my care have lost their lives. It is time he paid for their deaths.”

 

Quill shrugged. “Makes sense.”

 

“Thanos has caused much grief across Cadör,” Steve announced, stepping away from Peggy and holding up his left hand to show a thin scar across his palm. “I vowed to the dawn as we left Hel’s Kitchen that every Cretan soldier to violate an Omega in Thanos’s frantic search for me would pay for their actions in blood. I cursed Thanos and his men.”

 

The Cretans and Wakandans and the faeries looked to Steve with sobriety in their eyes. They knew the importance of a witch’s curse.

 

“On the solstice,” Steve continued, “I will see that curse fulfilled.”

 

“And we shall be at your back,” Peggy promised.

 

“Then let’s get started,” Stakar said, clapping his hands together. “Let us share what we know about the city.”

 

They gathered around the table. Some of the younger Ravagers brought in plates of food, platters of shaved pork and roasted winter vegetables. They were given goblets of water or ale as the Ravager captains, Quill, and the two daughters of Thanos shared every secret they had discovered in the years of Thanos’s tyranny.

 

Outside, the sun was probably setting by the time the war meeting broke up. The Ravager captains returned to whatever it was they did, taking the Wakandans with them, and the faeries returned to the Feywild through the shadows they had come out of. Quill and Peggy approached Steve and Bucky as the others left.

 

“I know a good place for the portal,” Quill told him. “Should we scope it out?”

 

“Please,” Steve answered.

 

Sam had lingered and followed them out as Quill took them from the hut and away from the bonfire, to another tunnel leading out of the cavern. Steve shot Sam a glance, then tucked a little closer to Bucky. Bucky automatically wrapped an arm around him, bringing him in. Sam hastened to catch up with them.

 

“Hey,” he said quietly.

 

Steve glanced his way and just raised an eyebrow.

 

“Pietro was your friend before, right?” Sam asked, his voice still soft.

 

“Obviously,” Steve retorted.

 

“Look,” Sam sighed, “I’ve been a jerk, okay?”

 

Steve cast him another glance, then slipped his arm around Bucky’s waist and leaned even closer. “We don’t have time for this,” he said.

 

“We don’t have time for anything!” Sam hissed. “The solstice is days away! And if – If one of us doesn’t make it –”

 

Bucky suddenly let out a low growl, his grip tightening around Steve’s shoulders. Sam looked startled, but gets over it quickly.

 

“I get it, man,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk.”

 

He held out his hand, dancing a little forward to face them on the path. Steve shrugged, ignoring Sam’s hand. But he did slow to allow Peggy and Quill to get a little farther ahead.

 

“I just don’t get why you did it,” he admitted. “Why don’t you like Bucky?”

 

“Look at him!” Sam said, gesturing a little hopelessly. “Axe-murderer! No offense,” he added.

 

“None taken,” Bucky grunted.

 

“He’s handsome,” Steve defended, casting a smile towards his mate.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m fearsome and terrifying,” he said flatly.

 

Sam gestured hopelessly again. “See!”

 

“Adorable!” Steve insisted, grabbing Bucky’s cheek and pinching it.

 

“Stop!” Bucky laughed, shoving him off.

 

Peggy and Quill glanced over their shoulders from the head of the tunnel. Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and dragged it back around his waist.

 

“We’re nearly there!” Quill called.

 

“Good,” Steve answered.

 

Sam fell back into step at Steve’s side. “I was just trying to look out for you,” he said softly.

 

“I can look out for myself,” Steve reminded him.

 

Sam bobbed his head in a nod. “I know,” he admitted. “I just – I worried about you. I felt awful that we left you behind.”

 

Steve reached out and linked his hand with Sam’s. “I was alright,” he promised. “It wasn’t long before Bucky found me.”

 

“How did you find each other?” Sam asked.

 

“Thanos hired me to kill him,” Bucky answered succinctly.

 

“What?” Sam squawked.

 

Quill and Peggy whipped around to shush them. Sam winced.

 

“It was an anonymous deal,” Bucky added, “and the minute I realized that Steve was causing trouble for the Cretans and not just in general, I switched to protecting him.”

 

“He got me out of Yorke,” Steve said, leaning into Bucky. “We bonded a few weeks before arriving in Wakanda.”

 

Sam winced; obviously realizing that his efforts to break them up had been even more harmful with the bond being so new. Steve just nuzzled his cheek into Bucky’s shoulder. Sam had, fortunately, been far from successful.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered. “I should’ve trusted your judgment.”

 

“We forgive you,” Steve answered, then glanced at Bucky. “Right?”

 

Bucky gave a nod. “But seriously,” he added, “quit intentionally scent-marking him.”

 

Steve jerked and looked at Sam with wide eyes. “You didn’t –!” he gasped, because he hadn’t noticed.

 

Sam winced again. “Sorry,” he muttered.

 

Steve elbowed him hard. Sam let out a grunt and stumbled as he clutched his ribs.

 

“How are your elbows even _sharper?_ ” he wheezed. “You’ve put _on_ weight!”

 

“Really?” Steve questioned, glancing at Bucky. “What’ve you been feeding me?”

 

“Bear meat is very nutritious,” Bucky said with a smug grin.

 

“Bear meat?” Sam spluttered.

 

“This bear,” Bucky added, sweeping a hand across the fur cloak Steve wore.

 

“It was at least seven feet tall!” Steve added excitedly.

 

Sam spluttered. Bucky looked proud of himself again and Steve leaned into him once more.

 

Just then, ahead of them, Quill opened the end of the tunnel and soft pink light flooded in.

 

“It’s just past sunset,” Quill called to them. “The guards will be changing soon. Come on!”

 

Quill slipped out first, but Peggy lingered to help the others. Sam climbed out and Peggy offered her hand to Steve. It was then that Steve caught her Alpha scent.

 

Steve, conscious of his fresh bond, didn’t take her hand. Peggy didn’t seem offended, just climbed through behind him. Bucky was the last to exit, coming up behind Steve and slipping a hand around his waist.

 

They were in another alleyway, but ahead of them, Steve could see the structure of a Cretan church.

 

“This is where you want to have the portal?” Steve hissed.

 

“Just wait!” Peggy whispered back.

 

Quill stood on the edge of the alley, watching the coast. After a second, he let out a low whistle and waved to them. Peggy joined Quill at the mouth of the alley, then they darted out.

 

Steve followed without hesitation. Bucky and Sam were on his heels.

 

The church was massive compared to any temple that Steve had ever seen before. It spanned several blocks and reached maybe fifteen stories high. A bell tower sat at its crest and as Quill and Peggy lead the way around the church’s walls, the bell suddenly let out five gongs.

 

“Five o’clock,” Peggy murmured behind her.

 

“Five?” Steve questioned.

 

“It’s a twelve-hour system,” Peggy added, “based around sunhigh and moonhigh rather than dawn and dusk.”

 

Steve flicked his eyebrows up, shelving the information. Quill and Peggy lead them into another alley, then into a garden, where Quill lifted a veil of greenery to reveal a gate.

 

“Through here,” he murmured, opening the gate to slip through.

 

Beyond the hidden gate was the backside of the church, a thin and open alleyway with a tall wall on one side and the structure of the church on the other. The other end of the alley was blocked off by the limestone wall.

 

Quill spread his arms with a grin, turning back to face Steve. “Guess what’s on the other side of that wall,” he said.

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

“The castle,” Quill said happily. “With Thanos inside.”

 

“How often do people come back here?” Steve asked, moving forward to look around.

 

“Never,” Quill answered. “Not since they stopped tending the garden; Thanos’s orders.”

 

Steve nodded a little, bending low to feel the dust. He reached behind him and Bucky wordlessly passed him Strange’s book. Steve crouched down and cracked open the book to read up on the requirements for the spell.

 

“This will work,” he said, shutting the book.

 

“I’ll post a lookout here,” Quill offered. “We’ll head back into the catacombs for now.”

 

Steve handed the book back and took Bucky’s offered hand to get up from the ground. Quill lead the way back through the gate and to the alley they’d come from and Peggy slowed to walk at Steve’s side.

 

“I have some spell books back in the cavern,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to look at them?”

 

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Show me in the morning?”

 

Peggy gave a quick nod. “We’ve prepared sleeping areas for you,” she said, “when we get back, I’ll show you where you’re staying. It’s not the most comfortable, but I bet it beats sleeping on the ground.”

 

Steve gave a little laugh. “Well, I mostly slept on _him,_ ” he joked, nudging against Bucky, “but a mattress would be nice.”

 

Peggy laughed as well, smiling over at Bucky. “The things we do to please our Omegas,” she teased.

 

“He makes a good blanket,” Bucky said with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

The walk back to the cavern was a little faster this time, arriving back in just a few spare minutes. Quill vanishes immediately, but Peggy lingers to show them their sleeping space, as promised. Three huts have been set aside at the edge of the ring, furnished sparsely with pallets and fire rings. Like every other place, there are only curtains to block the doorway and Steve wonders how anyone has any sex in this place.

 

“We don’t have much space,” Peggy said. “This is all we could spare.”

 

“It’s fine,” Steve promised. “We appreciate it.”

 

Peggy offered them a smile and slipped away, disappearing into the crowds of Ravagers.

 

T’Challa and the rest of the group were already there, gathered in the central of the three huts around a crackling fire. Nakia smiled as Steve, Bucky, and Sam entered, and T’Challa waved for them to join them.

 

“All well?” T’Challa questioned.

 

“Yes,” Steve said. “We’ll be able to open the portal just outside of the castle.”

 

“Good,” T’Challa murmured. “We were discussing the sleeping arrangements.”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky said, sitting down on a block of wood and tugging on Steve’s wrist to encourage him to sit in his lap. “I vote me ‘n’ Steve take one and the rest’a ya fight over the other two.”

 

“Bucky!” Steve scolded, even as he dropped into his lap.

 

“What?” Bucky countered defensively.

 

“I was actually going to suggest something similar,” T’Challa said. “Okoye and Nakia may take one to themselves as well, and the rest of us men take the third.”

 

“How thoughtful,” Okoye replied dryly.

 

“You ain’t gonna stick me with the girls?” Erik replied, sounding jokingly surprised. “I’m touched.”

 

“What?” T’Challa returned cheekily. “Like I would allow any funny business to occur on my watch.”

 

Erik rolled his eyes and glanced towards Steve. “Ya get this shit?” he said. “Like it fuckin’ matters.”

 

Steve chuckled. “I don’ know, pal, I’m happily mated.”

 

Bucky circled his arms around Steve’s waist and hugged him tightly. Steve laughed and wriggled in his embrace, putting his face into Bucky’s neck.

 

“My happy mate,” Bucky rumbled quietly, just for Steve to hear. “Tired yet, sweetheart?”

 

Steve smiled softly and leaned back into Bucky. He nodded just a little into his chest.

 

“If that’s decided, then,” Bucky said, pushing up and scooping Steve up with him. “Good night.”

 

Erik suddenly cackled and Steve grinned smugly as Bucky carted him away. Sam finally smiled.

 

Bucky carried Steve into the hut to the right, where the fire ring was cold and filled with waiting wood. Bucky set Steve down on one of the pallets, then knelt by the ring to structure the wood the way he wanted it. After a minute, he turned back and glanced at Steve, and Steve simply snapped his fingers. The kindling at the center of the structure caught fire.

 

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a grin, getting back up to join Steve on the pallet. “Are you actually tired, sweetheart?”

 

Steve grinned and winked. “Nah, but a few good orgasms’ll get me right to sleep.”

 

Bucky snorted and climbed on top of him, pushing him down. Steve lay back happily and Bucky began taking out the fur plates to build a nest around them.

 

The fire built up in the ring as Steve and Bucky kept quiet while they made love. Finally, they settled down to sleep, intertwined with one another.

 

It was strange to sleep underground. Steve was used to being woken by the dawn, but in the Ravagers’ cavern, the sunrise couldn’t reach them. Instead, he was woken in the morning by Bucky snorting awake as someone knocked on the outside of the hut.

 

“Rise and shine!” Peggy’s voice called. “There’s breakfast!”

 

Steve let out a groan, rolling over to press into Bucky’s chest. Bucky rumbled a little nonsensically, nuzzling into his hair, before lifting his head.

 

“Right,” he called back to Peggy. “Coming.”

 

Peggy’s footsteps were carried away and Steve started to fall asleep again. Then Bucky rolled them over and pushed his face into Steve’s neck.

 

Steve let his head fall back easily, waking up a bit more. Bucky nuzzled into his neck, then parted his lips over his scent gland and nipped a few times. Steve hummed softly, going limp under Bucky.

 

“Morning,” Bucky rumbled.

 

“Morning, love,” Steve answered with a yawn.

 

His stomach grumbled then and Bucky switched to just nuzzling Steve’s neck. After a moment, he pushed up and Steve blinked his eyes open.

 

“Le’s go eat,” Bucky said, his voice rough and scratchy, and Steve just gave a nod.

 

They dressed and Steve put out the fire. They emerged from the hut to find the rest of the Ravagers awake and rushing about. Like the night before, a communal meal was taking place and children ran around while the adults prepared the food. The rich scent of roasting meat traveled the cavern and lured everyone in.

 

Peggy found Steve and Bucky, sitting with Sam and Bruce at a table near the fire to eat, with her own plate and cup. She sat without asking, right across from Steve.

 

“Spellbooks,” she said without greeting. “I only have a few; there were more in my mother’s library, but she wasn’t able to save many when Thanos took over.”

 

Steve set down his fork. “Let’s see them,” he said.

 

Peggy lifted a thick sackcloth satchel onto the table and pulled out five thick, leather-bound tomes. Steve drew one towards him and opened it up to scan it leisurely.

 

“I’ve been trying my best to learn all the spells by heart,” Peggy continued, “and I’ve succeeded with a few of the simpler ones.”

 

“ _Self-Transmutation,_ ” Steve read the title of one spell aloud. “Yeah, these don’t seem very beginner friendly.” 

 

Peggy leaned forward to stop Steve on that page, pointing the self-transumation spell. “This one allows you to change into the form of an animal,” she said.

 

Steve smiled and glanced over at Bucky. “Think I could manage a wolf?” he teased.

 

Bucky just rolled his eyes and carried on eating.

 

Steve turned his attention back to the spell. Reading over its instructions, he gave a few slow nods and pulled it even closer. It didn’t look that difficult.

 

“I could try this,” he said. “Have you tried it, Peggy?”

 

“Yes, I don’t think it works,” Peggy answered. “I’ve never even gotten a spark out of it.”

 

Steve pursed his lips and examined the spell further. He pushed back from the bench and stood up with the book, reading still. Bucky twisted around.

 

“Finish your breakfast before you go spellcasting!” he called peevishly. “You’ve barely eaten!”

 

“Gimme a second!” Steve countered, waving a hand. “Peggy, are you sure it doesn’t work?”

 

“Well,” Peggy said reluctantly, “mostly.”

 

Steve stepped back towards the table and reached to dig around in one of Bucky’s pouches. Bucky jolted and looked down as Steve withdrew the first animal talisman he could find; a fox’s tail.

 

Steve set the heavy book back down on the table and held up the fox’s tail to give the spell a try. He cleared his throat.

 

“Do you have a wand?” Peggy asked abruptly.

 

Steve glanced up at her. “No,” he said simply, then returned to the spell. “Et ludicro hoc viventem.”

 

His spine gave a shiver. Then his skin began to crawl and he dropped the fox’s tail to quickly back up. Bucky grabbed at Steve’s sleeve as Peggy let out a gasp, but Steve quickly shrank, his clothes with him.

 

It was a very strange feeling, being a fox. Steve twisted his head around to sniff at his tail, then gave himself a shake and tested out his paws. Bucky loomed over him, but he didn’t resist as Bucky wrapped his hands around his middle and lifted him up off the ground.

 

“I don’t believe it,” Peggy whispered in awe. “It does work!”

 

Steve let out a chirp and flopped down onto the table in front of Bucky, sniffing at his plate. Bucky numbly picked up a scrap of meat and held it out; Steve happily licked it from his fingers, though it took him a minute to figure out how to use his new teeth.

 

“You gonna stay that way long?” Bucky asked, chuckling. “Gotta admit, ya look real cute like this.”

 

Steve bared his teeth and gave a growling bark. Bucky laughed and scooped him up again, cuddling him against his chest. Steve gave up the fight and settled happily against his chest, blinking around. A fox’s vision was weird.

 

“What was I doing wrong?” Peggy said, grabbing the book to read the spell herself. “I don’t understand!”

 

Steve crawled out of Bucky’s arms and back onto the ground. He gave himself another shake and with a simple thought of intention, he changed back, clothes and all.

 

“How?” Peggy demanded.

 

Steve climbed back onto the bench, then shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you,” he admitted. “But it’s a handy spell.”

 

Peggy slumped, scratching her head. Steve returned to his breakfast.

 

Magic was simply easier for Steve than it was for Peggy and, unfortunately, he couldn’t teach her anything. His magic was in his blood, not books. Peggy had a wand made of oak with a small purple crystal set in its handle that she said had belonged to her mother. She used it to produce puffs of smoke and light and occasionally set things on fire. She was much more skilled with her bare hands, and proved so by taking Bucky on in a sparring match and holding her ground for much longer than any of the other soldiers who tried to take Bucky on.

 

Bucky did fulfill his promise and began teaching anyone who wanted to learn hand-to-hand combat without the fancy rules of the Cretan dueling arenas. One person asked Bucky what the rules of the match were and Bucky told him that the only one was they were over when the loser ran away or Steve told Bucky to stop. Bucky had, all counted, 100 years of experience in ducking punches and some 90 years of experience throwing them. The Cretan traitors that were loyal to Peggy typically had 5 or 10. They were usually useless against Bucky, who was unafraid to pull hair or pummel his opponent in the family jewels.

 

Bucky did teach as he was beating the pulp out of his students, however, he pointed out mistakes and good ideas and generally taught by example of what not to do. The Ravagers soon joined in on the fun and while they were much more willing to fight dirty than the soldiers, they were all still unable to hold their own against Bucky for very long.

 

“I was taught by a vampire,” Bucky answered when asked about his skill. Or: “I made a deal with a devil.” Things typically like that.

 

Now, when Peggy tried? Steve was very aware that it was definitely a pair of Alphas prostrating and strutting for his benefit.

 

“Perhaps you’ll let me attempt,” Peggy suggested to Bucky, slipping off her threadbare but elegant outer robe to reveal the practical pants and tunic underneath.

 

“Sure,” Bucky answered. “If you think you’ll get off easy ‘cause I’m afraid to hit a lady, you’re wrong.”

 

Peggy smiled and tied back her hair. “Of course not,” she said, “I would expect better of you.”

 

Then she glanced towards Steve, who was sitting at a table nearby to better appreciate Bucky’s form and physique. Most of the men had stripped off their shirts, but Bucky was still wearing his and his gloves. Still, Steve could watch the occasional bead of sweat that traveled down Bucky’s temple and that was enough for him to picture what it would look like if Bucky _were_ shirtless.

 

Bucky followed Peggy’s gaze, then as she quickly looked back to him, he set his jaw. Steve rolled his eyes. Sam leaned in closer to him.

 

“Methinks the lady likes you,” he hissed in a sing-song voice.

 

“Whatever,” Steve answered.

 

“Two outta three?” Bucky suggested, widening his stance.

 

“I’m flattered,” Peggy answered, copying him. “Shall we?”

 

Bucky lunged first and the fight began. Steve propped his chin on his hand and watched with apparent mild interest.

 

He knew that Bucky had not only been going easy on the others but had been getting quite bored with having to do so. Now, Steve knew that Bucky was putting his best into attacking Peggy and was doing so with relish. As Bucky knocked Peggy off her feet for the first time, barely seconds into the fight, Steve could tell that she was surprised by his sudden ferocity, but she quickly got over it.

 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Peggy teased.

 

Bucky genuinely growled. A shiver went down Steve’s spine, along with the instinct to roll over and show his belly. Peggy and Bucky circled each other and Bucky cast a short glance towards him, making it clear, he _knew._ Steve just quirked an eyebrow.

 

Bucky seemed to be refueled just by knowing what he was doing to Steve. He feigned right, Peggy dodged left, and Bucky caught her easily in a triphold, flipping her and him both to slam into the ground; he had one of Peggy’s hands twisted behind her back to pin under his knee and the other he held above her head with her left hand.

 

Peggy twisted and squirmed under him. Bucky didn’t seem remotely bothered.

 

“Yield,” he said calmly.

 

Peggy tried to worm her left hand free. Bucky’s grip, Steve knew, could not be broken.

 

“Yield,” she spat out.

 

Bucky got up, brushing off his hands. He walked away to face the crowd and began listing all of Peggy’s mistakes, for another teaching moment.

 

Peggy got up and took a slow step forward. Steve recognized what she was doing and debated communicating to Bucky. But it might do Bucky some good to have his ego deflated just a little. Just a little.

 

Peggy grabbed Bucky by the hair and kicked out his legs, yanking him back by the handhold she had on his hair. Bucky yelped as he was thrown backward and Peggy wasted no time in throwing her weight onto his back, pinning his hands and legs.

 

“That is why you never turn your back on your opponent, gentlemen,” Peggy announced to the crowd. “Do you yield, Mr. Smith?”

 

Steve knew that Bucky was capable of throwing Peggy off. His left arm could easily break her grip and he could send her flying. But there was a reason he was stubbornly calling himself Smith.

 

“I yield,” he agreed.

 

Peggy got up and stepped back, brushing off her hands. Bucky rolled onto his back and with a casual roll of his spine, he jumped to his feet, then cracked his knuckles. Only on the right hand, of course.

 

“You said there were no rules,” Peggy reminded him.

 

“And there aren’t,” Bucky agreed. “So, third match?”

 

Peggy shifted into a defensive stance. “Let’s.”

 

Steve covered a yawn. It was nearing supper and in a little while, he was going to interrupt a match to use his ability to tell Bucky it was time to stop so they could go eat. He’d been flattered when Bucky said he had the right to interrupt any match.

 

Peggy and Bucky circled each other again. Peggy seemed to be waiting for Bucky to strike first, however, Bucky looked like he was choosing patience. The longer they circled, the more nervous Peggy got. Bucky, on the other hand, had 90 years of experience and a point to prove.

 

A completely ridiculous point, but who was Steve to say? It was amusing.

 

Peggy finally made the first move. She tried a kick which Bucky easily caught and threw off. He could’ve reversed it and ended it then, but seemed more interested in toying with her. To prove a point, again, Steve assumed. Peggy stumbled but regained her footing quickly, just in time to duck and jump out of the way of Bucky’s next strike.

 

“Getting slow?” Peggy quipped. “How disappointing.”

 

“Ooh,” Sam hissed. “She went there.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

Bucky bared his teeth but didn’t growl. He feigned a lunge that Peggy fell for, but in the end, just moved around her.

 

“I don’t want it over too quick,” Bucky returned. “That would really be disappointing.”

 

“Ooh!” Sam gasped, wheezing out a laugh.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Steve muttered.

 

“It’s funny,” Sam said, elbowing Steve.

 

Steve just rolled his eyes. It was funny.

 

“You should just concede,” Peggy claimed. “We both know I’m the smarter of the two of us.”

 

“Yeah?” Bucky said. “Show off some more, why don’t’cha?”

 

Peggy tried to strike. Bucky again caught her foot and threw her off.

 

“Smart ain’t what wins on the battlefield, doll,” Bucky said in a condescending tone. “It’s guts and muscle.”

 

“Smart wins wars,” Peggy countered.

 

“This ain’t war,” Bucky said with an easy smile. “This is a friendly spar. What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”

 

Peggy scowled. Steve sighed and shook his head. He didn’t know what the hell she was trying to accomplish, anyway, going after a _bonded_ Omega. Wholly foolish.

 

“I think we both know,” Peggy said quietly.

 

“Thought you said you was smart?” Bucky answered.

 

Without warning, he darted. Peggy misjudged his lunge and he jabbed twice into her stomach, then knocked his fist under her chin and swept her feet with a kick. Peggy hit the ground hard and the wind was visibly knocked from her lungs. She struggled to inhale and Bucky calmly put a boot on her sternum.

 

“This ain’t smart,” he told her. “Really ain’t.”

 

Peggy gasped on the ground.

 

“Yield?” Bucky asked.

 

She looked furious. But she nodded.

 

“I yield,” she wheezed.

 

“I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m a lil’ hot under the collar,” Sam whispered to Steve in a teasing tone. He even fanned himself. “That was was _good._ ”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve sniggered.

 

Bucky released her and offered a hand. Peggy slapped her palm into it, yanking herself upright, and brushed herself off with a glower. Then Bucky yanked her into an embrace, slapping her shoulder, and Steve saw him linger to whisper in her ear. When he released her, Peggy was scowling even more. She strode away.

 

“Right,” Bucky announced, clapping his hands together to again address his students. “Test time. What did she do wrong?”

 

With Bucky’s back turned, Peggy made a beeline for the table Steve was sitting at.

 

“Oh, she went there,” Sam muttered. “I’m out. Peace!”

 

He jumped up and hastened away. Steve clapped a hand to his forehead.

 

“Steven,” Peggy greeted stiffly.

 

Steve smiled tightly. “Hi,” he said.

 

Peggy sat down, glancing over her shoulder towards Bucky, then faced him again, rigid. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

 

Steve shrugged. “Well enough.”

 

“I have a potions book you might be interested in,” Peggy said briskly. “It’s in my house; would you like to see it?”

 

“And that’s it for today!” Bucky shouted abruptly. “We’ve got three more days until the solstice, so come back tomorrow!”

 

Peggy stiffened even more. Steve almost pitied her.

 

“Before he runs over here and muscles you out,” he started, “really, I’m flattered –”

 

“It would be a strategic union,” Peggy blurted. “Colonel Phillips is strongly advising we become close, for the good of our kingdoms.”

 

Bucky began to stride toward them, his face set in a scowl. Steve let out a sigh.

 

“I’m less flattered now,” he said.

 

“Yorke has not been independent for nearly 90 years,” Peggy added quickly. “You could benefit from –”

 

Bucky landed both hands on Steve’s shoulders and smoothly slid into the bench next to him. He glared at Peggy.

 

“What did I just tell you?” he snapped.

 

“I was speaking to Steven,” Peggy snapped back.

 

Bucky lurched, slamming his metal fist into the table, and it made a vibrating thud loud enough to make others nearby look around. Needless to say, Peggy flinched back, blinking hard.

 

“You got ten seconds to clear out ‘fore I _really_ get mad at you,” Bucky growled. “Hear?”

 

Steve did his best not to swoon. Though, he did like Bucky's sudden possessiveness. It was definitely flattering.

 

“Peggy was telling me about the strategic value of forming a close relationship,” Steve remarked to Bucky. “Since Yorke has not been independent in so long and everything.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his jaw tensing even further. Steve set a hand on his arm, slipping a finger between his glove and his sleeve to stroke the metal plating below where his scent gland would be if the arm were flesh and blood.

 

“I don’t plan to be a monarch very long,” Steve admitted to Peggy. “I’ve read up on the concept of democracy, actually.”

 

Peggy lifted her eyebrows. “You would rather be elected by the people?”

 

“I would rather not be in power at all,” Steve confessed. “My hope is to establish a democracy that will put anyone other than myself in charge.”

 

“What will you do?” Peggy asked, clearly startled.

 

Steve looked to Bucky and smiled, leaning into him. “We’ll open an apothecary in Brooklyn,” he said. “And make sure that the hearth is always lit.”

 

Bucky relaxed at last, curling his arm around Steve’s shoulder instead of just gripping it. He nuzzled his nose into Steve’s temple.

 

Peggy let out a sigh. “I can’t convince you?”

 

“No,” Steve said. “And it’d be nice if you stopped trying. It’s really not productive at this time.”

 

Peggy gave a nod. “Phillips has been pressuring me,” she admitted. “As have other Loyalists; they like the idea of retaining control over Yorke even once Thanos is deposed.”

 

“Even if I weren’t bonded to Bucky,” Steve said, “I wouldn’t want to become bonded for a reason like that.”

 

“I wouldn’t think so,” Peggy agreed. “Neither would I, if I had the choice.”

 

“But you do?” Steve questioned.

 

Peggy shook her head. “Not really,” she sighed dejectedly. “I only have power because those loyal to the crown are so traditional.”

 

Steve gave her a sympathetic grimace. “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” he said. “At least, not in that front.”

 

Peggy gave a nod. “I understand,” she said. “I really do.”

 

“Then quit challenging me,” Bucky growled.

 

Peggy then smiled a little. “But it’s so amusing,” she joked weakly.

 

Steve snorted, glancing at Bucky. “It is kinda funny.”

 

Bucky looked completely outraged and blindsided. “Funny?” he spluttered.

 

“You get so defensive!” Steve teased.

 

“What else would I do?” Bucky continued to splutter.

 

“It’s like poking a bear,” Peggy added.

 

Steve leaned in and pecked Bucky’s cheek. “Or a wolf,” he said sweetly.

 

Bucky looked unimpressed. Steve kissed his cheek again and Bucky caught him by the waist to drag him into his lap. Steve just laughed. Peggy looked on, looking envious, but not because Bucky had Steve and she didn’t.

 

“I hope I get to have a love like yours,” she said. “Though I doubt it.”

 

Bucky calmed and Steve reached across the table to briefly touch the back of Peggy’s hand.

 

“You will,” he said. “And that’s a witch’s promise.”

 

Peggy gave a weak smile. “Maybe,” she murmured.

 

She did stop challenging Bucky’s claim after that, but she did still frequent the sparring matches. She even challenged Bucky on his tactics, offering her insight as the underdog to the listening students.

 

“Always let your enemy underestimate you,” she preached, “and use it against them.”

 

It was something Steve quite agreed with and had used plenty of times before. He’d been underestimated and instinctively used it against his attacker.

 

As the solstice drew nearer, Steve was reminded endlessly that people died in war. More than that, that people _killed_ in war. He wasn’t as comfortable with it as Bucky was.

 

The night before, it weighed heavy on his mind. He lay with Bucky in their makeshift nest, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin and his body almost completely covered by him.

 

“What was it like the first time you killed someone?” Steve just asked.

 

Bucky looked down, his hand sweeping up Steve’s bare back. “Why do you ask?” he returned in a murmur.

 

Steve just shrugged, avoiding Bucky’s eye. “I’m curious,” he said. “No,” he added, “I’m afraid.”

 

Bucky kissed his hair. “It felt like I was going to throw up,” he murmured. “But at the time, I couldn’t, because it might’ve gotten me killed. That was during the Last Battle of Yorke. I killed four men.”

 

Steve nodded slowly.

 

“They haunted me for a long time,” Bucky said softly. “Until Red Skull enchanted me, even. And a little bit after I woke up.”

 

“I did throw up,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky looked down again. His hand came to rest over Steve’s ribs, opposite his heart.

 

“I’ve never told anyone,” Steve added, just as quietly. “I – I lied a little, about why I didn’t like my magic at first. It wasn’t just the Cretans preaching.”

 

Bucky was quiet and Steve would be sure that he was disgusted and horrified beyond words if it weren’t for the connection between them. The bond told him that all Bucky was feeling was empathy.

 

“I killed a Cretan soldier when I was 15,” Steve confessed. “Before I joined the Red Room. It was why I joined the Red Room, actually, because I was afraid I would be caught if I lingered.”

 

“What happened?” Bucky prompted when Steve fell into silence.

 

“I think the soldier’s name was Thomas,” Steve whispered. “He cornered me in an alley and told me that if I screamed, he would kill me. I think he was going to rape me. I cut off his air.”

 

Bucky drew him in a little tighter. Steve’s eyes slipped shut and he let out a breath that carried with it the stress of six years of holding in that little secret. Not even Sam knew.

 

“You were defending yourself,” Bucky murmured. “You had every right.”

 

Steve nodded. “I know,” he answered.

 

Bucky nuzzled his hair. “When I was a boy,” he began, “something like that happened. I think the Omega was one of my cousins, but I had a lot of cousins,” he added quickly. “She wasn’t as lucky to get away. But she told her father after, and her father told everyone else, and they caught the man who did it. They hung him and left his body there to remind others. He still hung outside the village after the Eastern March burned it down.”

 

“They don’t do that anymore,” Steve murmured.

 

“You’ll make new laws,” Bucky said. “To protect Omegas from ever being cornered in the first place.”

 

Steve nodded again. He squirmed a little closer, breathing in Bucky’s clear and masculine scent. It was wonderfully calming to him.

 

“The sun will set on Thanos tomorrow,” Bucky said softly. “We will see it.”

 

“We will see it,” Steve echoed quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _drama, drama, drama! tbh, one of my fave scenes in this whole thing is peggy trying to compete with bucky for steve's affections, bucky got so offended and peggy was so persistent and steve was just sitting there facepalming, lmao. chapter 20, 21, and 22 will all be posted in the next few hours, so stay tuned!_


	20. THE STORM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the final battle!!!!! omg!!!!!!!!!_
> 
> _(also due to a small error, there are 23 chapters, not 22. i accidentally combined two of the later chapters into one. whoops.)_

##  _[THE STORM]_

  


The day of the winter solstice dawned as any other day would. The rooster crowed. The people got up and began their work. Babies cried, children complained, breadwinners guzzled coffee.

 

The sun dawned red. Bucky didn’t need to be a shaman to know that what a blood dawn meant.

 

The Ravagers were deployed across the city, Loyalist military members positioned themselves. Wanda and Pietro exited the Feywild through the shadows of the catacombs and promised they would give the signal to the rest of the faerie army of when to attack. Bucky escorted Steve, with Quill, Peggy, Sam, and the Wakandans, to the alleyway behind the church at the back of Thanos’s castle.

 

Steve drew a large sigil in white chalk on the church’s back wall. There were letters in a language Bucky didn’t recognize, runes and eerie markings, and Steve murmured in the language of dragons as he drew the sigil. It didn’t help that Bucky had provided the chalk and knew that it was made from bones.

 

Everything was quiet. As the sun rose higher, clouds began to form above their heads. It was quite literally the calm before the storm.

 

At long last, Steve dropped the chalk and crushed it under his heel. He took a dagger from his side and pricked his thumb. He smeared the blood over his hand, then pressed a handprint into the center of the sigil, immediately sweeping his hand through the dust of the bone chalk to cover the bloody print with it.

 

“Otvori,” Steve whispered.

 

The markings in chalk began to glow. Steve quickly backed up, wiping his hand clean on his apron. Bucky moved to grip Steve’s shoulders as the sigil turned from white to orange.

 

“This is it,” Steve announced in a sharp whisper. “It’s happening!”

 

The orange and glowing markings began to move. They began a slow rotation that sped up by the second, until every letter and rune ran together to make just thick orange blurs. The handprint in the center turned black and began to spread.

 

“The signal!” Peggy hissed to Quill.

 

Quill lifted a flute to his lips and began to play it, a sharp and fast-paced tune that he cut off short. Distantly, the tune picked back up at the note Quill left it, stopped, and was resumed again even further away. The blackness at the center of the spinning orange sigil spread to the edges, filling it, then the outside began to cast out sparks of orange.

 

Doctor Strange stepped through the portal.

 

“Well done,” he said flippantly. “Shall we?”

 

“We’re ready,” Steve answered.

 

Strange slipped back through the portal, then almost as immediately reappeared. This time, he was followed by M’Baku. T’Challa embraced his friend and exchanged a few words with him in their native language.

 

“So this is Cretus,” M’Baku murmured as he looked around. “Very dusty.”

 

“Quite,” Okoye agreed.

 

“How many are following you?” Peggy asked.

 

“Almost 400,” M’Baku said. “Are you the Sorceress Carter?”

 

“Yes,” Peggy replied, “but I’m not much of a sorceress.”

 

M’Baku just waved a hand. “How many are in your army?”

 

“Almost 200 from Thanos’s army and another 100 civilians,” Peggy said.

 

“Plus the armies of the Seelie and Unseelie fae,” Steve added.

 

M’Baku raised his eyebrows at Steve. “Indeed?” he murmured. “Their numbers?”

 

“A hundred fifty,” Steve said. “Combined, we’ll have nearly 900.”

 

“Thanos has over a thousand,” Peggy warned.

 

M’Baku raised the clubbed staff, called a knobkerrie, in his hand and grinned. “Thanos does not have our weapons,” he said, shaking the knobkerrie for Peggy to see; it glowed.

 

“Thanos doesn’t have the armies of the Seelie and Unseelie courts,” Steve added.

 

“Still,” Bucky said. “We need to be on our guard.”

 

“Bring through your forces,” Peggy told M’Baku. “We’re going to storm the castle in a three-point attack; you’ll be going over this wall.”

 

M’Baku gave the wall a glance and nodded. He waved to Strange, who again, vanished through the portal.

 

“Quill and these two will stay with you,” Peggy continued. “Quill will give you the signal to begin your attack.”

 

“Very good,” M’Baku answered. “May the Gods be with you.”

 

Peggy bowed a little at the waist. “And also with you,” she said, then waved to Steve and Bucky and left through the hidden garden gate.

 

Bucky lingered to shake M’Baku’s hand before following her. Steve was at his heel, slipping through the garden to follow Peggy. Above them, the clouds were growing thicker and darker.

 

“There’s snow on the way,” Bucky predicted.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed quietly. “Hopefully, it doesn’t fall until after we’ve stormed the castle.”

 

Peggy deftly led them back into the catacombs. They would meet Yondu and the rest of the Guardians, Quill’s team, to take the second prong of the attack, the front door. The faerie army would exit through the shadows within the castle itself, but the wards around it would have to be broken first.

 

Steve had to be on the front lines, then. Bucky didn’t like it, but it was the only way.

 

The Ravagers were ready and waiting. Using the catacombs, they positioned themselves at four exits before the castle’s front gate. The flutes played to signal that Quill and the Wakandans were ready. Yondu whistled to answer the flutes and they carried back across the city.

 

There was nothing left for them to wait for.

 

“The sun sets on Thanos,” Peggy told the troops.

 

“The sun sets on Thanos,” Steve repeated.

 

“The sun sets on him,” Bucky whispered.

 

Thanos had tormented Yorke long enough. The sun would set on his reign that day.

 

Yondu whistled once more. Across the city, a single flute played.

 

“The sun sets on Thanos!” Peggy screamed.

 

The Ravagers burst out of the catacomb exits. The guards posted at the front gate were overwhelmed in seconds; Bucky cut down four himself as Ravagers brought a battering ram to the gate. Others threw hooks and ropes and scrambled up the walls to swarm the castle. Bucky grabbed a handhold on the battering ram and charged with the Ravagers holding it. At the same time as they ran, Steve raised his fists, covered by the pelt of the bear cloak, and brought them down to slam into the ground with a heavy thud that shook the whole city. The gate caved.

 

“The sun sets on Thanos!” Ravagers cried.

 

Distantly, Bucky heard the warcry of T’Challa and his forces, yells of _“Wakanda Forever!”_

 

The Cretan soldiers were all surprised and Bucky was fiercely proud of the way the Ravagers used that surprise against their enemies, the way he’d taught them. As the gate slammed against the ground, Bucky drew his greatsword, shouting, and charged with everyone else.

 

“THE SUN SETS ON THANOS!”

 

The courtyard swarmed with Ravagers, attacking with hammers and swords and axes and chunks of brick. They fought dirty and with a savagery that the Cretan soldiers were clearly unprepared to counter. Bucky duel-wielded his greatsword with his hand crossbow, taking out more of the Cretans by the second. He fought with the rage that had filled him when he’d been forced to stand back and do nothing as Cretans violated his Omega and others, he fought with the rage that had been settled in the back of his mind since Thanos made the mistake of releasing him from his enchantment, he fought with the rage he’d been holding onto since Red Skull and the Eastmarch wiped out his family.

 

But even he had to be in awe of Steve.

 

As the gates slammed into the ground, Steve swelled and a column of stone shot up under his feet, carrying him into the air. His hands lit with fire and a nearby water tower burst to flood the courtyard, sweeping up Cretans and leaving Ravagers standing dry. The bear’s crown on his head seemed to roar on its own.

 

“Thanos!” Steve called in a voice that shook the ground. “Your name has been called!”

 

Dry lightning cracked the sky. Bucky was in awe. Witches, he thought, were truly the most terrifying and most beautiful thing to ever walk Cadör.

 

“Retreat!” a Cretan shouted. “All forces, retreat!”

 

“Cowards!” Peggy screamed. “Face us and die like men!”

 

“Close the castle!” someone inside shouted.

 

“COWARDS!” Bucky roared.

 

The castle doors were slammed shut. Several soldiers were stuck outside, screaming to be let in, but the Ravagers let them no mercy. Bucky beheaded one and watched his blood stir the dust.

 

“This is your just reward,” Bucky hissed.

 

“Thanos!” Steve called, his voice echoing unnaturally. “You wanted me? You wanted the son of Sarah dead? Come and get me!”

 

Bucky helped grab the battering ram and carry it up the steps. A massive ball of fire hit the stone structure and the ground shook again.

 

“Thanos!” Steve shouted.

 

Bucky hefted the battering ram. Steve threw another fireball and the castle shook. With a collective roar, Bucky and the Ravagers ran the heavy battering ram into the castle doors. It held.

 

A crow suddenly landed on a flagpost.

 

“Hold!” Bucky shouted. “Hold, hold!”

 

The Ravagers froze, looking up. The crow looked down at Bucky, its eyes beady and black. It opened its beak and its croak echoed as loud as Steve’s voice.

 

“What?” Yondu demanded. “What are we waiting for?”

 

“Wait,” Bucky said quickly.

 

He put down the ram and stepped up to the crow. He touched a hand to his heart and knelt. It had been a long time since he had prayed to the Morrígan as an acolyte.

 

“My lady,” he whispered.

 

The crow cawed once more. It spread its wings and fluttered off the flagpost and shimmered. Its form extended.

 

A woman of an impressive height of eight feet touched bare feet to the ground. Her cloak of black feathers fluttered in a light breeze. Her eyes were beady and black.

 

The Ravagers gasped and the ram thudded to the ground. The Morrígan conjured a quarterstaff with a white crystal set in its peak and looked down at Bucky.

 

“The sun will set on this tyrant,” she announced.

 

The shadows shimmered. Natasha, wearing a crown of black vines, appeared, flanked by her mate and heirs, then from more shadows, other black-eyed fae appeared. From even others, fae with white eyes appeared, lead by a woman in a white crown.

 

“The sun will set on this tyrant,” Natasha echoed proudly.

 

From more shadows, a man in gold and green arm, a ram’s horn helmet on his crown, stepped into the light. Thunder suddenly boomed and every mortal jerked to look around; lighting struck the ground in the center of the courtyard. In the scorch mark it left, a man in armor and a flowing red cape appeared.

 

Bucky looked around with wide eyes. He knew those gods.

 

“Thor and Loki,” the Morrígan announced, drawing her cloak of raven feathers around her. “They fight by your side this day, White Wolf.”

 

“This will be a glorious battle,” Loki declared.

 

Thor lifted his hammer; lightning poured from the sky, striking the hammer. He opened his mouth and bellowed: “Bring me Thanos!”

 

Thor slammed the hammer into the ground. The stones holding the castle doors in place crumpled to dust, revealing a full hoard of Cretan soldiers.

 

“The sun is setting!” Natasha screamed, throwing her fist into the air.

 

“The sun is setting!” the Ravagers echoed with gusto.

 

Bucky drew his greatsword again and charged with the rest. He felt the ground shake and Steve, riding a pillar of stone, swooped into battle ahead of him with fire pouring from his hands. The faeries and Loki dashed between shadow and shadow to slit throats and vanish once more. Thor swung his hammer and flew ahead of the charge, lightning following him. The Morrígan raised a greatsword of gleaming white metal and charged.

 

The massive great hall became the bloodiest scene of battle Bucky had ever seen and he could hear the Wakandans fighting their way through the other end of the castle. A massive staircase led up to the upper floors and more soldiers streamed down from it every time one was cut down.

 

“The upper floors are shielded!” a faerie shouted. “Ward-breakers!”

 

Bucky saw Steve cast his fireball up; it struck a shield and dissipated, as warned. Steve shot up on his pillar of stone and Bucky saw a flock of crows burst out of the battlefield to attack the soldiers coming down. Loki appeared on the staircase and aimed a scepter at the barrier; blue light fired from it and the barrier began to glow purple.

 

Steve landed on the staircase. Bucky cut an enemy down at the knees and spared him any further pain by striking him in the heart, then jumped and ran for the staircase, hacking and slashing at any Cretan to get in his way.

 

“FOR WAKANDA!” voices yelled and the Wakandan forces burst through to the great hall.

 

“FOR CRETUS!” Ravagers yelled.

 

“FOR YORKE!” Bucky roared.

 

“For the Nords!” Thor bellowed.

 

Bucky swung onto the stairs and slashed at a soldier running up to Steve, who was blasting the barrier with a stream of fire. Bucky put his back to Steve’s and raised his sword.

 

“Looked like you was havin’ all the fun out there,” Steve threw over his shoulder.

 

“Was,” Bucky answered, then parried an attack and kicked the unlucky bastard down to be caught by a faerie trap of thorns. “‘Til I saw your pretty behind unguarded and I figured, what kinda mate am I if I jus’ let all these fellas get a gander?”

 

“My hero,” Steve gritted out, the sound of the fire’s roaring doubling.

 

“This barrier is no mortal magic!” Loki shouted across the hall.

 

The flock of crows swooped together and melded into one; it flew with a screech and attacked the barrier with its talons. It was merely deflected by a burst of energy.

 

“Face us, Thanos!” Steve shouted. “Are you too much of a coward?”

 

From within the barrier, a man in long black robes walked slowly into view. In the great hall, the Cretans were falling by the second to the magic of the fae, the ferocity of the Ravagers, the skill of the Wakandans. The barrier pulsed with energy. The black-robed man stepped into the light.

 

He raised his hands, showing skin that was bright red. Bucky’s blood ran cold.

 

“Do you really think victory will be so easy?” the Red Skull called to them all. “Soldiers, rise!”

 

The body of a Cretan at Bucky’s feet twitched. Lacking an arm, it rolled over and pushed up from the ground. Bucky cursed loudly.

 

“Try killing men who cannot die again!” the Red Skull cackled.

 

The Morrígan screeched and spun in the air, changing into her goddess form before their eyes. She threw out the end of her staff and bright light streamed from its end to strike the barrier, which only groaned. Bucky swung his sword, but he was being suddenly swamped by headless or armless or bloodless Cretan soldiers. He remembered fighting the undead at the Last Battle of Yorke; they had lost miserably.

 

Of course, they hadn’t had gods or witches fighting with them.

 

Bucky was terrified anyway.

 

“Hey!” Steve yelled. “Ass Face!”

 

Red Skull jerked and Steve abruptly clapped his hands together. The upper floors of the castle shook, hard enough that Red Skull stumbled and almost fell.

 

“That’s for enchanting my Alpha!” Steve yelled. “And there’s more where it came from!”

 

“The little witch-whore,” Red Skull returned in a leer. “You think yourself a match to me?”

 

“Yeah!” Steve snapped. “‘Cause I undid your enchantments!”

 

Steve clapped again and the whole castle groaned as it shook. Bucky stumbled as he almost lost his own footing and kicked an undead Cretan down the stairs.

 

“You’re going to bring the whole thing down!” Bucky hissed.

 

“Not a bad idea,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky let out a groan. “We got 800 people in here!”

 

“Get them out?” Steve suggested.

 

Bucky looked around desperately. “Auntie!” he yelled.

 

A long and hairy leg poked out of a shadow beneath Bucky’s feet. Bucky jumped a step up, yelping, as more legs poked out and the body of a massive spider slipped out of the shadows between the stairs.

 

“Gods almighty!” Bucky cursed. “Can you move people out?”

 

The spider clicked at him.

 

“Steve wants to take the building down,” Bucky added.

 

The spider clicked angrily.

 

“The barrier can’t hold if it has no building to shield!” Steve insisted.

 

The spider tapped all eight of its legs, then scampered over the growing pile of undead to the great hall.

 

“Is that a yes?” Bucky demanded of the air.

 

Suddenly, the fae began to retreat. Without warning or any communication. All of them vanished at once and it was rapidly noticed.

 

“You see!” Red Skull cackled. “Your allies abandon you!”

 

“TRAITORS!” Stakar screamed.

 

Bucky pulled a fistful of blast powder from his belt and threw it into the faces of the undead advancing on him; they exploded in a rain of blood and guts.

 

“Ha!” Bucky shouted. “The dead can die again!”

 

“Fool!” Red Skull screamed. “You cannot defeat them all!”

 

Then T’Challa shouted something in the Wakandan language that M’Baku across the hall echoed. Without any further due process, the Wakandans began their retreat.

 

“COWARDS!” Aleta screamed.

 

“Retreat!” a Ravager shouted.

 

“Hold your ground!” Yondu yelled.

 

“Retreat! Retreat!”

 

“That worked,” Bucky muttered, pulling out more blast powder to throw at the undead.

 

The Ravagers scattered, as thieves could be trusted to do most. The undead were slow to respond.

 

“You’ve been abandoned!” Red Skull cackled.

 

“We’re still here!” Thor roared.

 

Thor flew up with his hammer pulled back. The Morrígan ducked out of the way and Steve cut out his stream of flames to brace himself. Bucky took the cue and cast more of the blast powder before grabbing Steve by the waist and dropping to his knees to steady the both of them.

 

Thor hit the barrier with his hammer, casting lightning through the whole hall, and at the same time, Steve slammed his hand into the stone stairs beneath them.

 

The whole castle groaned again. Red Skull cackled as Thor failed to break the barrier, but his laughter cut off sharply as the ground beneath them all quaked strongly. Bucky grabbed onto an iron railing as Steve twisted his fingers and cut into the stone itself.

 

The castle shuddered. Red Skull screamed. Loki vanished, then appeared instead at Steve and Bucky’s side.

 

“Try it again,” Loki advised.

 

Steve slammed his fist back into the stone. It broke under his hand.

 

“No!” Red Skull shrieked as the ground gave way beneath him.

 

“And here we go!” Loki said, grabbing Steve and Bucky by the arms, yanking them into the shadow of a crumbling stone.

 

Bucky yelped and stumbled as he stepped out onto grass outside the castle. Loki gave a little bow, then vanished into another shadow. Yondu ran at them.

 

“What the hell’s going on?” he bellowed.

 

Steve pointed behind him. On cue, the castle collapsed into a pile of stone and dust. Yondu stopped, gawking.

 

“Fast and non-suspicious exit,” Steve said.

 

“You couldn’t’ve done that from the start?” Yondu spluttered.

 

Steve just shrugged.

 

A crow settled onto Bucky’s shoulder and Thor stepped forward.

 

“Magic or not, that will end any mortal,” he announced.

 

“The sun has not set yet,” a voice from the rubble answered.

 

The fae, Wakandans, and the Ravagers readied their weapons; they had the rubble circled, but no one attempted to near. The rubble shifted. A massive hand pushed out, the skin strangely dyed a purple color.

 

“Come out and face us!” Peggy shouted. “You’ve lost!”

 

Bucky held his sword at the ready. The crow on his shoulder cawed and took off.

 

The rubble cascaded in dust and chunks as a man stood up from it. At the same time, the Red Skull pushed his way out of the rubble as well. The man rose from the rubble, revealing a giant frame and skin the color of lavender blossoms.

 

Thanos stepped up and out, walking calmly. Red Skull backed up to join him, looking around at the gathered rebels. Thanos scanned the crowd and finally, his gaze fell on the sight of Nebula in the crowd. She pushed her way to the front, even, and Thanos only shook his head.

 

“I forsaw this day,” he said, and his voice was without worry or trepidation. “But I had hoped that the vision was lying to me when it depicted you.”

 

Nebula held out twin swords. “Your hopes were ill-founded,” she called.

 

“Surrender and we may spare you!” Peggy added.

 

Thanos sighed heavily, as though grieved. He lifted a hand, clad in a strange gold gauntlet.

 

“I never dreaded this day,” he continued. “The castle’s destruction did not even bother me. But your betrayal –”

 

“You are not my father!” Nebula screamed. “You murdered my only family! You tortured and abused us our whole lives and you took away the only person you ever swore to love! You are no parent!”

 

Thanos just shook his head.

 

Thor lifted his hammer. “Long have my people prayed for your ending,” he called. “Long have my people cursed your name. Long have I desired to rain the fury of Asgard on your heretical teachings! What have you to say for your crimes, Thanos?”

 

“Violence is necessary in war,” Thanos answered calmly.

 

“You have executed children!” Thor shouted. “Killed Omegas bearing unborn! You have elevated yourself to the status of deity! These sins are unforgivable in the eyes of Odin and the Horned God!”

 

“I do not answer to your gods,” Thanos said.

 

“Then you shall be slaughtered without mercy,” Thor vowed. “You bear a blood curse on your head, Thanos!”

 

Steve raised his hand to open his palm and show the thin scar there. “You bear _my_ blood curse,” he snarled.

 

Thanos took another step from the rubble. “Your curse means nothing,” he replied with ease. “The blood you seek means nothing. You,” he concluded, his tone taking on pity, “mean nothing.”

 

Bucky jerked his crossbow up and fired, aiming directly for Thanos’s eyes. The bolt shot through the air. But Thanos lifted the gold gauntlet and the bolt stopped in mid-air, then fell to the ground.

 

“You cannot kill me,” Thanos told Bucky. “No one can.”

 

Thor spun his hammer and with a yell, threw it. Thanos caught it in his gold gauntlet and calmly crushed it. Thor gasped.

 

“No,” Thanos said, just shaking his head. “Not even you. You are a false god and cannot stop me.”

 

“What god do you serve?” Loki demanded.

 

The Red Skull bared his starkly yellow teeth at that question and laughed.

 

“Myself,” Thanos answered.

 

“I serve the great lord Hive!” Red Skull called. “It shall consume and destroy all!”

 

The crow landed on the Red Skull’s shoulder and clasped its talons around Red Skull’s neck. Red Skull let out a shriek of pain and surprise as the crow lifted him off the ground and grew in size to close its talon around Red Skull’s neck. Thanos just looked on with bored and vague interest.

 

The Morrígan wrung Red Skull’s neck in the air, then tossed his limp and skinless body to the ground.

 

“Service of the entity known as Hive is forbidden!” the crow cawed. “All who profess its name shall be smited by our fury!”

 

“I never served Hive,” Thanos said calmly, even as he raised his gold gauntlet again. “He gave me a fine trinket, however.”

 

Thanos caught the crow by the leg and yanked. The Morrígan screeched, her form changing to humanoid again, and hit the ground with a thud. Thanos pulled on her leg and threw her into the rubble, where she hit with a plume of dust and did not get back up.

 

Loki cursed under his breath. “The Infinity Gauntlet,” he whispered.

 

Thor shifted nervously. “Macha?” he called.

 

The Morrígan didn’t stir.

 

“While I wear it, I am immortal,” Thanos told them. “I am all-powerful, omnipresent, omniscient; I am more of a god than you are.”

 

Bucky stalled, at a lost. Thor was weaponless. _Thor’s hammer had been destroyed!_ Loki looked afraid and the Morrígan wasn’t getting up. Thanos walked calmly away from the rubble, holding up his golden gauntlet. The people stepped back.

 

“If you surrender,” Thanos turned back on them, “I will spare you.”

 

Bucky grabbed Loki’s sleeve. “What can I do?” he hissed.

 

“I know you are only afraid!” Thanos continued.

 

“The gauntlet is an immensely powerful magical artifact,” Loki hissed back. “It has only been yielded by _gods_ until today!” 

 

“How can I stop him?” Bucky demanded.

 

Loki worked his jaw, shaking his head. Steve glanced over his shoulder, grabbing Bucky’s arm.

 

“Take the gauntlet,” Loki hissed. “Both of you, run and take it!”

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand. Steve, his eyes wide, just nodded. Bucky pressed fast kiss to his lips, then ran.

 

Bucky leapt onto Thanos’s shoulder. Steve grabbed the gauntlet. Bucky plunged his sword into Thanos’s ear and the purple giant roared with pain as he staggered. Nebula ran at that opportunity, her swords drawn. Thanos grabbed Bucky by the back of his clothes and yanked him off; Bucky lost his grip on his sword as Thanos wrapped his fist around him.

 

“I will crush you like the pathetic insect you are,” Thanos hissed.

 

The sword still hung from his ear. His other hand was splayed at his side. Nebula let out a fierce battle cry and Thanos jerked to face her. Steve yanked hard on the gauntlet.

 

“No!” Thanos roared again, thrashing his gauntlet aside to throw Steve off.

 

“Give!” Steve screamed.

 

“DIE!” Nebula screamed.

 

The gauntlet slipped. Bucky took a risk and changed into his wolf form while in Thanos’s fist. He sank his fangs into Thanos’s hand and as the giant roared in pain, Steve fell back; the gauntlet going with him.

 

Nebula leapt and launched into the air, her sword in hand. She yelled in rage and the sword plunged into Thanos’s neck. Thanos gasped, his eyes widened, and Negula slashed her sword out. Thanos’s head toppled from his shoulders.

 

Bucky, clenched in Thanos’s fist, was already crushed. As Thanos fell, his vision went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _uh.... so.... yeah. check out the next chapter later on Valentine's Day!_


	21. THE MAD GOD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yikes guys_

##  _[THE MAD GOD]_

 

Steve hit the ground with the gauntlet in his arms. He couldn’t believe that it had worked. That he had just been able to yank the gauntlet from Thanos’s hand. It had to have been a complete fluke.

 

Nebula screamed in rage as she beheaded Thanos. Steve had the wind knocked out of him by the weight of the gauntlet, but pushed up in time to see Thanos fall.

 

A wolf yelped. Steve felt the air flee his lungs again. He suddenly couldn’t breathe.

 

Nebula fell to her knees by Thanos’s body.

 

“I did it,” she whispered. “I avenged you, Gamora.”

 

Steve fell back down, the gauntlet falling to the side. He couldn’t breathe.

 

“The sun has set!” Peggy screamed.

 

“The sun has set!” the crowd echoed in a roar.

 

The Morrígan’s form stirred in the rubble and she pushed up. Thor and Loki walked up behind Steve, their eyes on the gauntlet. Steve kicked it aside as he scrambled to his feet.

 

“Move!” he yelled at Nebula. “Get out of the way!”

 

She jumped back. Steve threw out his hand and through sheer force of will, he knocked the body of Thanos onto his side, freeing the hand clutching the massive white wolf. Blood oozed out from between Thanos’s fingers. Steve grabbed one of the fingers and yanked, then pulled the wolf free.

 

“Bucky!” he gasped, shaking the wolf. “Wake up, Bucky! Bucky!”

 

The Morrígan approached. Steve’s heart wasn’t beating properly; it felt like it was about to stop. His head spun. The wolf didn’t move, but the form shimmered. It changed back into the man.

 

“Bucky!” Steve wept.

 

Bucky’s neck was bent at an awful angle. His ribs were flattened. His legs were skewed and broken.

 

Steve fell over Bucky’s body. He wept.

 

The Morrígan knelt down across from Steve and picked up one of Bucky’s limp hands. She murmured a few words and the broken bones righted themselves; and yet, Bucky lay still and Steve felt the sudden gaping hole in his chest that was their bond.

 

He could beg all he wanted, but he knew. The bond knew.

 

“His death was glorious,” Thor murmured.

 

“It was necessary,” Loki whispered then. “Without his death, you couldn’t have taken the gauntlet.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me that?!” Steve screamed, jerking up.

 

Loki looked sorry. Steve let out a scream of pure rage, grabbing Bucky’s jerkin to clutch his body to him. He could feel his lifeforce, tied to Bucky’s, begin to weaken. His heart was thudding at a painfully slow rate. His head now ached as well as spun.

 

“Take the gauntlet,” the Morrígan said quietly then. “Take the gauntlet, my son.”

 

“What?” Steve hiccuped, looking up at her. “No!”

 

“Pick it up,” the Morrígan instructed him. “You must put it on.”

 

“No!” Steve shouted.

 

Something hard rolled into his hip and Steve jerked back from it. Natasha stood nearby, her foot extended as if she’d just kicked something. He looked down and saw that the gauntlet had shrunk and looked like it would fit his right hand perfectly.

 

“You must put it on,” Loki echoed the Morrígan’s words. “If you don’t, it may summon Hive itself.”

 

Steve picked it up. He hiccuped again and slipped it onto his hand, wondering what good it would do.

 

“I’ll be dead in minutes,” he whispered. “Our bond will kill me.”

 

Natasha knelt down and touched Steve’s arm. “No,” she said sadly, “you won’t.”

 

Steve jerked his gaze up.

 

“I’m sorry,” the Morrígan said then. “But you are the only one who could have taken the gauntlet from him and only you can hold it now.”

 

“What?” Steve muttered, blinking away the tears.

 

“It is too powerful to let it remain without a claim,” the Morrígan told Steve, like she was _apologizing._ “We had it sealed away in Asgard, but the Red Skull managed to summon it. He had to sacrifice his eight fellow witches to do so. Thanos had to sacrifice one of his daughters to take it even then.”

 

Steve gripped Bucky’s jerkin, his breath catching in his throat.

 

“You –” he spluttered, his voice shaking, “you tricked me.”

 

The Morrígan looked repentant. “The gauntlet cannot change hands without a blood price.”

 

“You tricked me!” Steve screamed.

 

Of course it hadn’t been that easy. Of course not.

 

“It was necessary,” the Morrígan said.

 

“That means nothing!” Steve shouted, his voice going raw. “I’m going to die, too,” he said, his voice dropping into a trembling octave. “Any – any second now, he’ll bring me with him. Bucky’ll take me with him –”

 

His heart began to steady itself. Steve had tears streaming down his face and they burned like hematite.

 

“The gauntlet makes you immortal,” Natasha whispered.

 

Steve sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. He shook his head. Natasha grabbed his hand and nodded sorrily.

 

“You’ve become immortal,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” Steve babbled. He burst into fresh tears and fell over Bucky’s body again. “No!”

 

He sobbed. The city was totally silent but for the sound of his weeping. No one moved, no one even breathed. Steve just wept.

 

“Mother –” Natasha started.

 

“No,” the Morrígan said firmly. “I know what you wish to ask. It is not possible.”

 

“Don’t make him live through eternity mourning!” Natasha shouted. “He will grow bitter and use the gauntlet against us!”

 

“Daughter!” the Morrígan snapped. “Hold your tongue!”

 

Steve could feel the empty, gaping void where Bucky’s love _should_ have been gnawing at him despite the magic. The grief like a physical illness threatening to consume him. Bucky’s skin had always been cold, but there had been warmth in his heart. Steve pressed his face against Bucky’s chest and felt nothing but the cold.

 

He screamed again and the ground quaked. The rubble shuddered and tumbled out of piles. The church bell gonged randomly. A raven cried.

 

 _Beware,_ it called. _Liars and thieves! Beware!_

 

The warning was too late.

 

Steve then heard footsteps and felt a hand touching his shoulder. He jerked to look and Pietro smiled sadly as he knelt down beside Steve. Pietro’s sister, Wanda, knelt on his other side, her hands folded in her lap and sorrow in her eyes.

 

“You’ve saved Cadör,” Pietro said.

 

“To hell with Cadör!” Steve shouted hoarsely back. “I’d sacrificed it a thousand times if it would save him! I would’ve let Thanos win to save him!”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Thor spoke up.

 

“I fucking mean it!” Steve hissed.

 

The ground trembled again. Steve’s tears turned to steam on his face. He caught sight of the gauntlet and clenched his fist.

 

He raised the gauntlet and pointed it at a chunk of limestone nearby. It exploded. Steve pointed at another and blew it up. His face twisted in rage and he turned his hand on his grandmother.

 

The Morrígan leapt to her feat, her eyes wide. Before his eyes, she aged; instead of the mother, the crone stood before him, leaning heavily on her staff. She now glared at Steve.

 

“You are not Thanos,” she snapped.

 

“Natasha was talking about sparing me,” Steve countered. “Either you can let me die or you can bring Bucky back.”

 

Then, he snatched his hand away and held the gauntlet up to the sky.

 

“Or I destroy it!” he shouted. “It and all of us with it!”

 

“Scatter!” someone finally yelled behind him.

 

“Steven!” Peggy called. “Please, don’t –”

 

“Back the fuck off!” Steve screamed, twisting around to wave the gauntlet.

 

The ground split and yawned in a massive ravine. Peggy jumped back from the edge, running away, and Steve let the ravine split the earth thousands of feet down. Fissures of steam burst from the crack, then lava boiled up and splashed the ground on either side of the crack. The rebels ran away screaming, but Peggy hesitated and Nebula still stood by the corpse of Thanos.

 

“Before you close that up, can we throw him n?” Nebula asked Steve.

 

Steve waved his hand at the corpse. It flew into the air and tumbled into the crack, landing into the distant lava with a splash and a ball of fire. Nebula kicked Thanos’s head and sent it careening after the body. She grinned dementedly.

 

“For Gamora!” she screamed.

 

“That was the child he sacrificed?” Steve guessed. He clenched his jaw and looked back to the Morrígan. “Here’s the deal,” he hissed. “You bring Bucky _and_ Gamora back.”

 

“Steven,” the Morrígan warned in an age-cracked voice.

 

“Or I jump after Thanos!” Steve shouted. “And the gauntlet is destroyed! If this is so powerful, too powerful to _be_ destroyed, then it definitely isn’t going to be pretty when it happens.”

 

“No,” Nebula agreed, striding up to stand behind Steve. “It’ll destroy the whole city. Maybe the whole continent.”

 

“You will kill more people in this one moment than Thanos ever did in 40 years!” the Morrígan shouted. “For what?”

 

“To see you get what _you_ deserve,” Steve hissed. “Why, in 90 years of war and terror did the gods wait until _now_ to act? Why after 90 years of pain? Why now! Why us? Why didn’t you stop Thanos and the Red Skull _before_ they summoned this damn gauntlet! Why did you do nothing!” he finished in a roar.

 

The Morrígan’s eyes crackled.

 

“He’s right,” Loki spoke up.

 

“Loki!” the Morrígan gasped.

 

“We did nothing,” Loki said. “It was only when worship of us dwindled that we stepped in!” he said, challenging the Morrígan. “Steven’s mother could have taken the gauntlet! Her mother could have done it! _Her_ mother could have!”

 

“You are no better than Thanos,” Steve hissed. He jumped up, Bucky’s body lifting without command of his into the air with him, and he stepped backwards towards the crack in the earth. “I will do it,” he threatened.

 

“He will,” Loki agreed.

 

“This is madness!” Thor spluttered. “Babd, call on the Horned God, do as he says or we will all be destroyed!”

 

“It was necessary!” the Morrígan insisted.

 

“You fucking tricked me!” Steve screamed. “We could have stopped him some other way, but you tricked me!”

 

“There was no other way!”

 

“There were,” Loki admitted.

 

“You are no better in this!” Steve snapped to Loki.

 

Loki just pointed to the morrígan. “This was her plan all along,” he reported. “She never intended us to help in anyway, she intended the gauntlet to go to you the whole time.”

 

“You are the only mortal deserving!” the Morrígan insisted. “Or at least, I thought you were!”

 

“Do it!” Nebula screamed. “He’s addled by bond-sickness, he’s out of his mind!”

 

“You were what ruined this!” the Morrígan suddenly shrieked, aiming a bony finger to Natasha. “You lifted the curse on the boy that allowed him to take the wolf as his mate! You did this!”

 

“You never should have cursed them in the first place!” Natasha shouted back. “You were just bitter that my sister chose a mortal over us! You may as well have sparked the war, you might as well as told Red Skull how to find Hive, you gave all of the Eastmarch’s witches their power!”

 

“It was necessary!” the Morrígan shrieked again.

 

Steve, Bucky’s dead body floating in the air in front of him, stepped back towards the crack. “Bring him back,” he demanded in a cracked voice. “Or all of this goes away.”

 

“Your sister and you needed to learn a lesson!” the Morrígan screamed at Natasha.

 

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he drew in a sudden and gasping breath. Steve surged away from the edge to grab his shoulders as he fell from the air and onto the ground, fresh tears pouring from his eyes as he sobbed Bucky’s name over and over. Bucky frowned as he looked around, but sat up quickly and pulled Steve against his chest. Steve could only sob, clutching to Bucky’s body.

 

“This was highly irresponsible,” a new voice announced.

 

Steve didn’t have the heart to look up. He clung to Bucky’s chest, pressing his cheek against his breast to feel the warmth of his heartbeat as he sobbed. Bucky’s arms were tight around him, he was talking, but Steve could barely hear anything but his own sobbing.

 

“What happened?” Bucky got through to Steve. “Where’s Thanos?”

 

Steve hiccuped and looked up. “Dead,” he rasped. “You – you were, too.”

 

Bucky looked highly confused. “I’m not dead,” he said blankly.

 

Steve burst into tears anew and threw his arms over Bucky’s neck, nearly strangling him all over again with the force of his hug.

 

“Look at them! Were you really about to condemn a boy to an eternity of _bondsickness_ just because of your pride?”

 

“Father,” the Morrígan said, “there were steps that had to be taken –”

 

“Nonsense! Look at that poor boy, he’s crying more than Mac Lir did to form the great oceans! There’ll be a whole river in that split in the earth by the time he’s done!”

 

“There already is one,” Loki remarked.

 

Steve sniffled and pulled back, looking to his side. The crack he’d caused in the earth was much longer than he’d first realized; long enough that it disappeared out of sight in both directions. The lava was no longer bubbling, but water was filling it.

 

“That crack goes all the way to the sea,” Loki added. “It may become a new channel.”

 

“Does it? We’ll have to call it the Morrígan’s Folly, then!”

 

“Father!”

 

“No! You stirred up trouble one time too many with these humans! We all have!”

 

“My lord,” Thor said, “are you saying –”

 

“Yes. It is time we stopped meddling in human affairs.”

 

Steve looked up at last. Two new men stood in the clearing at the Morrígan’s side, but he’d only heard one speaking. One was an old man in armor and robes, an eyepatch covering one eye. The other was an even older man, dressed in pauper’s clothes and wearing tinted glasses.

 

“Aw, heck, kid,” the older man sighed, “you didn’t deserve this! Not one of you did.”

 

“What about my sister?” Nebula asked. “He said you had to bring my sister back, too!”

 

“Oh, right,” the older man said, then turned and glanced around. “Where – Ah!”

 

He walked up to the rubble, then began to pick his way through. The man in the eyepatch sighed.

 

“The Horned God, everyone,” he said.

 

“Father,” Thor said in a quiet, reproachful tone.

 

“What?” the man in the eyepatch – _Odin!_ – replied. “He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders!”

 

“Here she is!” the Horned God cried, sifting through the rubble. “There, now, kid, take it slow, you’ve been dead for five years!”

 

A red-haired woman adorned in green warpaint and tattoos stumbled as the Horned God helped her stand. Nebula blinked and the blue paint on her face smeared as a tear slipped from her eye. She broke into a run and nearly crashed into the woman who had to be Gamora as she swept her into a hug.

 

“Nebula!” Gamora gasped. “What – What?”

 

“Gamora!” Quill’s voice suddenly shouted. “Gamora!”

 

“Hello!” the Horned God laughed as Quill vaulted the ravine and ran to join Nebula in hugging Gamora fiercely. “Isn’t this better than whatever pettiness you’ve been stewing in for 90 years, Babd?”

 

The Morrígan was clearly seething. Steve still had the Infinity Gauntlet, and, for a second, he considered crushing her out of existence.

 

But he drew his hand back. Horror began to dawn on him as he realized what he’d done. He’d held the whole world hostage.

 

“I agree with him,” Odin announced. “Humans do not need us to navigate life any longer; they have proven it already,” he added sharply, looking at the Morrígan. “They had every right to desert worship when we ignored them!” he snapped. “And had I known that you _caused_ this war –”

 

“I did not cause it!” the Morrígan snapped back.

 

“You helped the Eastmarch gain power!” Natasha shouted. “Because when you made Muirne’s lover turn on her and she didn’t come running back to you, you wanted a better revenge! Was this worth it, Macha?”

 

The Morrígan glared. Then she hung her head.

 

“No,” she said quietly.

 

“See?” the Horned God answered. “We stop interfering with humans. We take up family counseling,” he added, shaking his head. He looked at Loki. “Know any good ones?”

 

Loki blinked slowly, then let out his breath. “Not off the top of my head,” he sighed.

 

“Ah, well,” the Horned God said with a shrug. “Natasha, we can trust you and Maria to put the supernatural world to rights?”

 

“You can,” Natasha said. “Do you mean for us to abandon humans as well?”

 

“Pfft!” the Horned God replied, waving a hand. “Faeries and trolls and goblins don’t cause 90-year wars over a petty squabble! Do what you want, you are your own people.”

 

“Come on, then,” Odin said, holding out his hands. “We must return to Asgard.”

 

The Horned God clapped a hand onto the Morrígan’s shoulder and Loki and Thor linked arms with Odin.

 

“Heimdall!” Odin called.

 

“Wait!” Steve shouted.

 

They stopped and looked. Odin raised his eyebrows.

 

Steve held out the gauntlet. “Will you take it?” he asked.

 

Odin sighed. He looked to the Horned God, who shrugged and stepped away from the Morrígan. Steve stood and slipped the gauntlet off his fingers.

 

“Will it kill me?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“No,” the Horned God answered kindly. “But you will remain immortal,” he warned. “That I cannot take without killing you.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened; he turned and looked at Bucky, who looked horrified.

 

“Relax,” the Horned God added, gently taking the gauntlet from Steve’s hand. “I made him immortal, too.”

 

Steve crumpled with relief and exhaustion. The Horned God wrapped the gauntlet in a sash and tucked it into his elbow as Steve fell back to his knees and collapsed into Bucky’s arms.

 

“For the record,” the Horned God continued as he took the Morrígan’s arm, “Odiin and I were already on our way before you thought up destroying the gauntlet.”

 

Steve gave a slight nod. The Horned God grinned and raised a hand to the sky, crying out, “Excelsior!” as a bolt of rainbow light hit the gods and they vanished. Steve passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yes, stan lee is the horned god. you're welcome._


	22. The 90 Year War and the Witchking of Yore

##  _[The 90 Years War and the Witchking of Yore]_

  


On the Winter Solstice of 638, the city of Titan was split in two by a canyon over 100 miles long, stretching from the Bromgue Sea to Kirgar Lake. The canyon was rapidly filled by water and formed a new river. It could have been called a new branch of the River Titan, which fed Kirgar Lake from the Bromgue Sea, but it wasn’t.

 

The river was named Deòir na Buidseach, which was Gaelic, not Latin; the language of Cretus. Even by the 7th century, Gaelic was a dead language, as most of its speakers had died in the Eastern March part of the 90 Year War. Gaelic was native to Yorke. Myths surrounding the Splitting of Titan said that the earthquake that had caused the rift was no freak accident.

 

Deòir na Buidseach, when translated to English, means Tears of the Witch.

 

On the same day in 638, the dictatorship of Thanos and the 90 Year War ended in a battle that lasted from dawn to dusk. Thanos took power over Yorke in 587, then Cretus in 592, and between then and 638, he set about a military campaign to “unify” all of Cadör. He conquered most of it.

 

Until the Winter Solstice of 638, he was succeeding. Thanos violated the Geneva Convention so many times, he may as well have invented war crimes.

 

In the fall of that year, he declared all male Omegas and female Alphas to be demons, allowing his soldiers to “search” all Omegas to hunt out the demons. Alphas weren’t searched, and the searches Omegas were subjected to were gross violations of their bodies. Any male Omegas and female Alphas found were executed publicly. This, just one of his atrocities, was, ultimately, a ploy to hunt down one boy.

 

Steven Rogers was born to Sarah Rogers in 617. His birth was absolutely inconsequential, except for the fact that his great-great-grandmother had been the secret lover of King Dùghlas Mac’IlleBhàin, who, along with all of his children and grandchildren, had been killed by the Eastern March at the Last Battle of Yorke in 539. His great-great-grandmother escaped the war unscathed and pregnant.

 

It isn’t known how Thanos knew that Steven Rogers was King Mac’IlleBhàin only descendant, but in targeting the boy, he chose his own enemy. (It is thought that JK Rowling may have taken this as inspiration when she wrote _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ in 2007.)

 

Rogers escaped Thanos’s clutches three times, it is said. (Another Harry Potter inspiration, perhaps?) The first was when he escaped the rebuilt city of Brooklyn when Thanos sent the notorious mercenary/assassin White Wolf to kill him. After failing to kill Rogers, the White Wolf vanished. The second time was in Hel’s Kitchen, when Thanos’s disciples declared male Omegas to be demons. The third was never documented, but the rumor persists to this day.

 

Rogers took refuge in the mountain city of Wakanda, and from there, orchestrated the battle that would end Thanos’s dictatorship. How long he spent there is undocumented as well, but historians know that he arrived in Titan within the week before the winter solstice.

 

He brought with him an army from Wakanda. In Titan, Rogers coordinated with the heir to the deposed Cretan monarchy, Lady Margaret Carter, to attack Thanos’s castle, with the forces of civilians in Titan who did not agree with Thanos’s agenda. The day of the solstice, the combined rebels attacked at dawn. Thanos was beheaded by his adopted daughter Nebula at dusk.

 

Their strategy and tactics have been colored by years of folklore, as legends say that an arm of fairies fought on the side of Rogers and his rebels. There was supposedly a dragon that incinerated the armies of Thanos, who were supposedly cursed by Rogers himself. It was said that Rogers also possessed magic powers and stories say that his great-great-grandmother, the lover of King Mac’IlleBhàin, was a fairy and a daughter of the goddess the Morrígan. Even before the final battle against Thanos, Rogers was called the Witchking of Yorke.

 

The fact that a new river was created by a freak earthquake that day, that was called Tears of the Witch, cannot be explained. With Thanos dead, the Cretan Empire fell apart in weeks. Margaret Carter was replaced on the throne of Cretus and she released Yorke back to its people, who quickly recreated their own monarchy and crowned Rogers, the Witchking, their ruler. After the coronation, Rogers married an Alpha whose name historians have never been able to discover. A month after the coronation, Rogers declared to his kingdom that in the ten years to follow, the monarchy would be replaced by a democracy.

 

Only seven years later, Samuel Thomas Wilson was elected the first President of Yorke.

 

The Witchking Rogers disappeared into history after abdicating the throne. His tomb, in the thousand years that have passed, has never been found.


	23. ...and they lived happily ever after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this is it, guys, the final chapter._

##  _[...and they lived happily ever after]_

  


Rain pounds on the streets of Brooklyn in an unrelenting downpour. Cars zip by and cast water from puddles lining the gutters onto the sidewalks. Umbrellas do little to protect pedestrians.

 

Peter, however, wishes he fucking had an umbrella, because he could swear that even his tampon is soaked in rainwater. His hair sticks to his forehead and his clothes have added another fifty pounds to his body, it feels like, as he trudges through the streets on the way home from school. He’s absolutely miserable and his period hasn’t even been that bad today.

 

Before the rain, he’d been planning to walk straight home. With the rain? His socks are soaked and he’s shivering down to the bone. His school bag is the only part of him wearing protection from the rain, because it had a rain cover attached and he’d been stupid enough to believe the weather report that morning which promised sunshine all day. He turns a corner and spots a wooden sign swinging in the wind from the storm. Peter makes a split second decision to wait out the rain and ducks into the small cafe with the wooden sign; _The Apothecary House._

 

The bell over the door rings as Peter darts inside. Immediately, Peter can hear the dripping of his wet clothes on the natural tile floors. The cafe is, as it has been every time Peter has gone inside, almost completely deserted. It has four customers already inside, which is a record high.

 

Peter has never understood how the cafe is always so empty when he goes in, because it’s the best cafe in all of Brooklyn, but he’s not going to be the idiot that posts their favorite undiscovered wonder on Yelp and turn it into a gentrified hipster hangout.

 

“Have a seat anywhere you like!” the voice of the owner calls from the back of the shop.

 

Behind the bar is deserted, like it usually is, but the other four customers – Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro, because Peter has been there often enough to know even the twins’ names – seem perfectly content to be ignored by the cafe owners. Peter doesn’t have a seat; he heads straight for the fire that’s blazing in the heart, letting his shoes squelch all the way across the cafe as he leaves wet footprints in his path. The fire is as constant as the lack of customers, even in the dead of summer. Peter isn’t going to question it; he falls to his knees in front of the hearth and sighs as the heat begins to permeate his wet clothes.

 

“Look what the wolf dragged in,” Natasha remarks calmly. “Forget your umbrella, Parker?”

 

“The phrase is _cat_ drug in,” Peter corrects. “Mrs. Romanoff,” he adds quickly when she looks up and raises a manicured brow.

 

“I know what I said,” Natasha answers. “Smith!” she then shouts. “You’ve got a customer!”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” the owner’s voice replies.

 

Footsteps echo from the back of the shop and Mr. Smith, Bucky as he keeps telling Peter to call him, walks out while wiping his hands on his black apron. He notices Peter immediately.

 

“Macha’s tits, kid, you jump in a swimming pool?” he demands, running around the counter and producing a towel from nowhere. “You’ll catch your death’a cold!”

 

“I’m fine,” Peter insisted, then, by sheer dumb luck, sneezes. “Fuck,” he mutters, wiping his nose with his hand.

 

“I’m gettin’ you some dry clothes,” Bucky says then. “You should be about Stevie’s size, hang on.”

 

“No, it’s okay!” Peter tries to protest as Bucky gets up and jogs back behind the counter into the back of the shop. “I swear, I’m fine!”

 

He sneezes again. Clint chuckles.

 

“Smith mother hens more than a mother hen does,” he remarks. “Just let ‘im, you’re the son he never had.”

 

Peter sniffles and hugs the towel around him tighter. He is freezing and he does have an awful immune system.

 

The other Mr. Smith walks out from the back of the shop then, sees Peter, and clucks his tongue pityingly.

 

“You poor thing,” Steve says as he walks out with another towel. “We’ll put your clothes in the dryer. Is your phone fine? Can you call your aunt?”

 

Peter nods, rubbing his nose again as he feels it start to run. “‘S in my backpack,” he mumbles.

 

Steve flops the towel over Peter’s head and starts unceremoniously scrubbing. Peter squawks in protest and Steve promptly shushes him.

 

“You’re too young to die of pneumonia,” he says firmly.

 

“Nobody dies of pneumonia!” Peter gets out. “It’s 2018!”

 

“Shush,” Steve says again. “You’re soaked to the bone!”

 

“I’m not a baby!” Peter adds, squirming to get away, but only a little.

 

He kind of likes the mothering. Maybe it’s the fact that he never knew his mother, but the fondness and kindness from Mr. and Mr. Smith has been touching ever since Peter first walked into the cafe three years ago; he’d been on the verge of tears and a panic attack, having just presented the week before as an Omega. Being trans-FTM was hard enough, and though he’d known he had almost no chance of being an Alpha, he’d been holding out hope to be a Beta. He’d walked into _The Apothecary House_ and Steve, a male Omega by birth, had known right away what he needed; a strong cup of cocoa.

 

“I got dry clothes!” Bucky calls, re-entering. “Here, Petey, go change in the bathroom.”

 

Bucky tosses a sweatshirt, some leggings, and a pair of fuzzy blue socks to Peter. Peter fumbles to catch them, then pushes up, his teeth still chattering a little, and side steps towards the bathroom.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

 

“Go on,” Steve tells him, “before you do catch your death.”

 

Peter shrugs off his backpack and ducks into the bathroom. He puts the towels down onto the counter, then starts stripping out of his soaked clothes, making a brand new puddle on the floor. He dries off with the towels, then pulls on the clothes, marveling at how warm they seem. He gathers up the wet clothes and the towels and slips back out.

 

“I’ll put those in the dryer,” Steve offers, holding out a basket to Peter.

 

“Cocoa or caffeine?” Bucky asks Peter, standing by the espresso bar.

 

“Cocoa,” Peter said, still shivering a little.

 

“Have a seat by the fire,” Steve adds, “give your aunt a call.”

 

“I’ll give you a ride if she can’t come pick you up,” Bucky adds. “Don’t need you back out in that rain.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter repeats, sinking down onto a dry section of brick in front of the hearth. “You guys are – you’re way too nice.”

 

“Nah,” Steve says, walking behind the counter to head upstairs with Peter’s wet clothes, “our customers are family, Peter.”

 

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Pietro calls to Peter, waving his Nintendo Switch in the air. “I wanna try on someone who _isn’t_ gonna fail right off the bat.”

 

“Hey!” Wanda protests.

 

“Not right now,” Peter says reluctantly, “I’ve got a huge history essay to write that I should’ve started a week ago.”

 

“Ooh,” Pietro answers with a grimace, “yikes. Essays. So awful.”

 

“I know, man,” Peter sighs.

 

“The true definition of torture,” Wanda adds.

 

“Kids these days,” Clint chuckles. “When I was your age, we had to deal with school teachers who would beat you with rulers if you wrote with your left hand!”

 

“And yet you’re still left-handed,” Natasha drawls.

 

Peter rubs his hands before the fire. Out of his soaked clothes, he’s already warming up.

 

Bucky walks over with a wide mug topped with faintly yellowed whipped cream; soy whipped cream, Peter knows without having to ask. Peter had said he had a lactose intolerance once in the first few months of coming to the cafe, and since, the Smiths have always had soy milk whipped cream.

 

“Here ya go,” Bucky says gently, setting the mug on the bricks next to Peter. “Drink up.”

 

Peter smiles and picks up the mug, pausing to inhale the rich scent of the chocolate and the little hint of cinnamon. He takes a long sip, getting whipped cream on his nose.

 

“There ya go,” Bucky chuckles, “better?”

 

Peter glances up and grins, nodding.  Bucky leans in and ruffles Peter’s hair with another chuckle before walking back behind the bar.

 

“What’s the essay on?” Wanda asks.

 

Peter swallows his mouthful and cocoa and wipes the whipped cream off his nose. “The 90 Year War,” he answers. “The half on Thanos; my friend Miles gets to do the half about the Eastmarch,” he adds with a wry laugh; he’s glad he doesn’t have to dredge up all the research on the Eastmarch.

 

“Oh, really?” Wanda says, her face lighting up. “Bucky, did you hear that!”

 

“Huh?” Bucky says, looking up from the espresso bar. “What?”

 

“Peter’s writing an essay on Thanos and the 90 Year War.”

 

Bucky suddenly grins and looks at Peter. “No kiddin’?” he says, then laughs and steps back. “Stevie!” he shouts. “Babycakes!”

 

“I hate it when you call me that!” Steve shouts distantly.

 

“Snookums,” Bucky croons, “come back downstairs!”

 

Steve groans distantly as Peter glances around with confusion.

 

“Why is everyone happy that I have to write an essay on one of the least documented wars in history?” he asks.

 

Steve re-enters, a paintbrush stuck behind his ear. “What?” he repeats.

 

“Guess what Peter’s essay is on, kitten,” Bucky says, sounding smug.

 

Steve frowns. “What?”

 

“The 90 Year War,” Bucky answers with a grin.

 

Steve suddenly goes red in the face. “Bucky –” he says warningly.

 

“My Stevie-doll only wrote a novel about the 90 Year War,” Bucky adds casually to Peter. “ _The Witch and the Wolf._ Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

 

Peter’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding!” he gasps.

 

Steve goes even redder and he covers his face with his hands. Bucky laughs and tugs him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple.

 

“That’s literally one of my sources!” Peter bursts out. “I literally got permission from my teacher to use that book as a source! It’s the most historically accurate fantasy novel, like, ever!”

 

“I researched a lot,” Steve mumbles from behind his hands.

 

“Oh, sure, stayed awake ten years in a row to do it, huh, bunny?” Bucky says, calmly lifting Steve by the waist and setting him on the counter, which would make Peter swoon if he didn’t have a filter and remind himself that Mr. Smith was in his _40s_ , maybe even his 50s given the gray hair at his temple. “How long has it been on the New York best seller list?” Bucky asks the air, tapping his bearded chin.

 

“When was it published?” Natasha asks.

 

“2005,” Peter answers automatically.

 

“How long is that?” Natasha adds, pointing to him.

 

“Shut up!” Steve tells Bucky firmly, hopping down from the counter. “Peter, if you want help writing your essay, I’d be happy to help.”

 

“Please?” Peter immediately begs, then lunges for his backpack and rips off the rain cover to dig around in it; he tugs out his battered copy of _The Witch and the Wolf_ and holds it out, too. “And sign my book?”

 

Steve smiles and walks over, taking the book. He plucks the paintbrush from his ear and carefully signs the title page, blows on it, and hands it back.

 

“That’s actually ink,” he says, tucking the brush back behind his ear. “It won’t smear.”

 

“I can’t believe I’ve known you for three years and never knew you were my favorite author,” Peter says.

 

Steve blushes again. “I used a pen name for a reason,” he says.

 

“Roger G. Stevenson,” Peter says in awe, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. You’re not an old man!” he bursts out.

 

“Thanks?” Steve says, laughing. “I think?”

 

“Wait, what counts as old?” Bucky asks.

 

“Like, 45,” Peter replies flippantly.

 

Bucky immediately gasps, affronted. “I’m 49!”

 

“Old,” Peter says with a shrug. “You have gray hair.”

 

“His gray hair is sexy!” Steve defends with a laugh.

 

“Ew,” Peter answers.

 

“Thank you, cuddle bug,” Bucky responds stiffly, sounding still offended.

 

“Cuddle bug?” Steve repeats disbelievingly, turning around. “ _Cuddle bug?_ ”

 

Bucky grins at him. “Princess?” he says.

 

Steve slaps a hand over his face.

 

“Love muffin?” Bucky tries again.

 

“What the hell,” Steve whisper-laughs.

 

“Peaches?” Bucky laughs.

 

Steve just laughs again, then drags over a couple of armchairs. “So, let’s see your draft.”

 

Peter winces. “It’s invisible?” he suggests.

 

Steve snorts. “When’s it due?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Peter answers shamefully.

 

Steve hits him lightly in the arm. “Peter, you’re supposed to be a top-notch student!” he teases. “What’s this leaving essays for the day before business?”

 

“It’s my internship with Mr. Stark!” Peter defends himself in a whine. “I forget about homework because I get to spend time with Tony Stark!”

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Have you called your aunt yet?”

 

Peter gasps and lunges for his phone. Pietro and Clint laugh.

 

“Cocoa’s on the house, by the way,” Bucky says, “even though you called me old.”

 

Peter just grins in Bucky’s direction, dialing his aunt.

 

His reputation as a top-notch student is not at stake, however, because in just a few hours, Steve has helped Peter write the whole 12 pages. It helps that Peter types an average of 80 words per minute and has really smart autocorrect.

 

“When’s your aunt coming to get you?” Steve asks as Peter puts his laptop away, changed back into his own clothes that are still somehow warm from the dryer.

 

“Actually, Mr. Stark is picking me up,” Peter says. “I forgot that he wanted to show me some new prototypes tonight. He’ll be here –”

 

The bell rings. Steve and Peter look up and Peter waves as Mr. Stark enters and shakes off his umbrella.

 

“You’d think it’d be snowing in December!” he announces to the cafe. “Hey, Pete, how’s it going?”

 

“Great!” Peter says with a grin. “Mr. Smith helped me with an essay, he’s –” He stops abruptly, considering that if Steve used a pen name, then perhaps he didn’t like attention. “He’s an amateur historian,” he says instead, and Steve shoots him a smile.

 

“Awesome,” Mr. Stark says, setting aside his umbrella. “This is a cafe? What’d’you guys charge per espresso shot?”

 

“Fifty cents?” Bucky answers with a raised eyebrow. “I guess? Gumdrop!” he adds in a louder voice and Steve looks up. “How much are espresso shots by the shot? Fifty cents?”

 

“Something like that,” Steve answers.

 

“Wow, really?” Mr. Stark says, then shrugs. “Can I get eight over ice?”

 

Bucky’s eyebrows both shoot up. “You could, but it’d be very hazardous to your health.”

 

Mr. Stark actually seems to consider that. He stops and frowns, as if no one had ever told him that eight shots of espresso at once was a bad idea.

 

“What about six?” Mr. Stark then asks.

 

Peter’s actually a little impressed. Usually, Mr. Stark goes for ten.

 

Bucky gives a shrug and grabs an iced cup. “Your funeral, buddy,” he says. “Stevie, honey love?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, dear?” he calls back sarcastically.

 

“What do I charge for six shots of espresso, pumpkin?” Bucky asks.

 

“They’re fifty cents each,” Steve answers slowly. “A dollar is 100 cents. Six shots is…?” He trails off, like he’s expecting Bucky to do the math himself.

 

Bucky sighs and turns to look at Steve with a hand on his hip. “Angelface, you _know_ I can’t count higher than 13,” he answers frustratedly.

 

“That’s very specific,” Mr. Stark responds quickly.

 

Bucky abruptly grins and leans over the bar, covering his mouth with a hand to whisper in Mr. Stark’s direction. Mr. Stark bursts into laughter and Steve jumps up out of his seat to run behind the bar.

 

“Three dollars!” he calls loudly. “It’s three dollars and you _can_ count higher than that, you little shit!”

 

“Aw, but I can’t multiply, sugar puff,” Bucky laughs.

 

Steve jabs a finger in Bucky’s face. “Call me one more cute name, I dare you!”

 

“Aw, c’mon, toots,” Bucky laughs.

 

Steve fakes a punch, but Bucky just laughs again and catches it. “C’mon, sunshine!”

 

“You fluff-brain, lemme go!” Steve tries to protest, but it’s hampered by the fact that he’s laughing.

 

“You know I love you, sweet cheeks!” Bucky coos. “I just wanna keep lovin’ you, pookie!”

 

“I’m gonna hurl,” Steve snorts, struggling away.

 

“You’re not the only one,” Mr. Stark quips.

 

“What, you gotta problem with us?” Steve turns back, his hands going to his hips.

 

“What?” Mr. Stark says, his eyes visibly widening behind his sunglasses. “No! No, it was just the – the –” he stammers and Peter covers his face with a hand, shaking his head. “Pookie,” Mr. Stark mumbles.

 

“Fair enough,” Steve replies with a shrug, then steps in front of the cafe’s vintage register and rings the drink up. “Three dollars,” he tells Mr. Stark.

 

Bucky hands the cup over and Mr. Stark pulls out his wallet, removing a $20.

 

“Keep the change,” he says. “Alright, kiddo, ready to go?”

 

“Yep!” Peter says, scrambling to shove the last of his things into his bag. “Two seconds!” he adds and picks up his mug.

 

He drains the last of his hot chocolate, then gets up and walks the mug over to the counter to give to Bucky.

 

“Thanks, Mr. and Mr. Smith,” he says. “For everything.”

 

“It’s no problem, Petey,” Steve tells him with a smile. “Our customers are family, remember that.”

 

“You look weirdly familiar,” Mr. Stark comments abruptly, squinting at Steve. “Did we have a drunken tryst in college?”

 

“I’m very sure we didn’t,” Steve says with a laugh. “I’ve been incredibly monogamous since I was 21 years old.”

 

Bucky proudly throws and arm over Steve’s shoulders, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Peter has to admit, they’re the cutest couple he’s ever seen.

 

“Huh,” Mr. Stark muses. “Weird.”

 

“I probably just have one of those faces,” Steve tells him with a smile. “It’s happened before.”

 

Mr. Stark shrugs. “Possibly,” he says. He sips his coffee, then his eyebrows shoot up and he nods. “This is actually really good,” he says, “I’m definitely going to haunt you guys now.”

 

“Feel free,” Bucky answers.

 

Mr. Stark swings an arm to punch Peter in the shoulder. “Welp, let’s get going,” he says. “Your aunt made me promise to have you home by 10 or she’d send me cookies for Christmas,” he informs him.

 

Peter shudders sympathetically as he starts to follow Mr. Stark out; his aunt cannot cook.

 

“Bye!” Steve calls. “Have fun!”

 

“Oh, wait!” Peter gasps, stopping in his tracks and turning back. “I wanted to ask,” he says, rushing back to the counter, “it’s been bugging me since, like, 2006,” he laughs to Steve, “why did you decide to combine the Winter Soldier and the White Wolf into one person and make him the Witchking’s Alpha?”

 

Steve smiles then. “It was partly a laugh,” he says. “Because my name is Steve and the Witchking’s name was Steve, I decided to base his Alpha on mine.”

 

He shoots a grin at Bucky and gives him a side hug. Bucky presses a kiss to his temple.

 

“But why make him the Winter Soldier?” Peter presses. “There’s no historical foundation to say that the Witchking ever met the Winter Soldier, and there’s definitely no foundation to say the Winter Soldier was also the White Wolf.”

 

Steve shrugs. “It seemed like a fun thought,” he says. “Who doesn’t like a bad guy turning out to be soft on the inside?” he adds, grinning again.

 

Peter grins, too. “I do,” he admits. “You definitely got the soft part perfect.”

 

Steve looks up at his Alpha and grins again. “I just stole him from reality,” he says, lifting onto his toes. “James was all Bucky.”

 

Bucky smiles yet again and leans in for a kiss. Peter nods, satisfied, and backs up.

 

“I like that,” he says. “Thanks, Steve.”

 

“No problem,” Steve replies happily.

 

Peter waves once more, then finally walks out with Mr. Stark.

 

“What was that about?” Mr. Stark asks.

 

“Nothing,” Peter says. “Just some dumb history thing.”

 

“Right,” Mr. Stark drawls.

 

They get into the car and Peter relaxes into the heated seats. What started out as a shitty day has definitely started to end as a great one.

 

*

 

Brooklyn is a very old, old city. Like all old cities, there are shadows that just can’t seem to be scrubbed out. In the corners of alleyways, behind old houses, in the cracks of crumbling brick walls.

 

 _The Apothecary House_ closed at 8pm, sharp. Steve happily kicks Natasha, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro out of the cafe.

 

“Go on, get outta here, you free WiFi freeloaders!” he teases.

 

“See you tomorrow!” Wanda calls.

 

“I won’t,” Natasha adds, “I have business.”

 

“Night!” Steve calls after them.

 

After locking up the cafe, Steve sets everything to cleaning itself with a wave of his hand and heads upstairs to join his husband for dinner. Bucky is serving venison stew with fragrant rice into bowls as Steve enters, and looks up and smiles at him as Steve walks up and hugs him from the back.

 

“Hi, love,” Steve mumbles.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky answers softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He grins a little more mischievously. “So, you stole me from reality, huh, dollface?”

 

Steve grins back and leans up to steal a kiss. “Shuddup, you soft idiot wolf.”

 

“Make me, witch,” Bucky chuckles.

 

Steve makes him.

 

Brooklyn is one of the oldest cities in New York. One of the first cities from when New York was still part of the democracy of Yorke. There are shadows that just stubbornly refuse to be wiped away by light. Like all old cities, it has its legends. Superstition and myth. Brooklyn, according to the fishermen and the old women, is haunted by a wolf the size of a man. At its heel follows a fox. Brooklynites don’t fear this wolf or the fox, however. They have been around since before Yorke divided into New York and its neighbors. Children talk of meeting the fox when they’re lost and afraid. Young women speak of assaults that are interrupted by the deep growl of an animal too large to be a dog. Brooklynites don’t fear their ghosts. The city’s flag is a white wolf with a fox dancing through its legs.  Every year on the winter solstice, a festival is held in honor of the wolf and the fox; a festival that is almost as old as the city itself. It’s not honorific the way it was in days of old, more a tradition that simply hasn’t died.

 

Still, people whisper. The wolf walks under the full moon, its fur gleaming white, and always at its heels, dancing between its paws, is the fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all!!!! this was so fun to write and share with you!!!!!!!! omg i can't believe it's actually over. *wipes tear from eye* this project has been a wild ride start to finish, from the actual idea of it being a dream i had to chaos messaging me to say she'd coincidentally picked my story AGAIN lmao. i'm so glad y'all love this fic and i'm so happy me and chaos got to share it with you. i'll see you in the next fic!_

**Author's Note:**

> _follow me on[tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394)or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying or chaos on [tumblr](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/) or [on twitter](https://twitter.com/Neutralchaos1)_


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